Smoke and Mirrors
by Liave Ekeli
Summary: An elusive hacker begins a game of deceit that threatens to plunge Gotham into chaos again. To play his game he chooses Connie Tate, Head of Research at Wayne Ent. And in his game he attracts the attention of Gotham's masked hero, fallen from grace.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **Batman is the property of DC Comics, movie rights is the property of Warner Brothers. In short; I do not own Batman. The only characters that belong to me are the original characters I've created, including Connie Tate, her family and some of her colleagues in research.  
**Author's Notes: **My second venture into the realm of the bat, and (hopefully) my first longer story in the fandom. Reviews are, as always, greatly appreciated. Read and enjoy.

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_With the push of a button, he had the whole world at his fingertips. That was the case for most people with access to a computer and an internet connection, but none knew how to use this power the way he did. If he wanted to, he could change the balance of the western world. He was that good, and he knew it. But that wasn't his goal today, and had never been so far. After watching countless news reports over the past few months, a city in the US had captured his interest. He was fascinated by the chaos created by one man. True, it had been crude and unusual, but never the less, very effective. He had given himself a challenge to see if he could accomplish something similar. He needed a new project to put his mind into. And this was day one…_

It had been about five months since Gotham City had been ravaged by the escapades of the psychotic madman known as The Joker. Now it was early December, and the city and its inhabitants were slowly recovering from the deaths of Police Commissioner Loeb and District Attorney Harvey Dent, two men who had devoted their lives to the fight against crime. Along with the scandal created when the city's silent protector, the Batman, turned out to have taken his crusade one step too far and made himself a murderer, the people of Gotham had seen and heard enough to last them months, and most seemed to view the approaching Christmas as a welcome change of pace.

The employees of Wayne Enterprises were no different from the rest of the working force of the city, and the mood in one of the smaller conference rooms of the Wayne Tower this clear December morning was relaxed for once. There were no deadlines that needed to be kept, and the only things on the agenda were a summary of the year that had almost gone by and a cursory look at a couple of deals that might become reality in the New Year.

Lucius Fox sat at the end of the table, watching as all the department heads from the departments based in Wayne Tower milled into the room. Next to him sat the company owner, Bruce Wayne, who had decided to sit in on the meeting, despite Lucius' assurance that there was really no need for him to be there. Both of them sat in silence, listening to the snippets of idle conversation that floated around as people found their seats.

Bruce had spent the past ten minutes studying the people in the room. He counted eight, excluding himself and Lucius, six male and two female. All were dressed in appropriate business attire, but one of the women had taken a somewhat unconventional approach and wore an underbust corset over her white shirt. He noticed that she also her bright red streaks in her dark brown hair. It was nothing very extraordinary, but still more than enough to set her apart from the crowd in a place like the upper floors of Wayne Enterprises.

He turned to Lucius and asked in a whisper;

"Who's that?"

Bruce nodded towards the woman, who was now taking her place mid-length down the table. Lucius raised an eyebrow, but answered in the same calm drawl he always used.

"That would be Connie Tate. Current head of the R&D department. I met her back when she was in college, sorta worked with her…unofficially, when I was down in Applied Sciences. When I switched jobs, I hired her. Put her in charge of Research…I know some people weren't happy about it, but she's good, she deserved it. Besides, I trust her…"

"It wasn't criticism, Mr. Fox, merely curiosity on my part."

"I appreciate that, Mr. Wayne, but if I were you I might think twice about who I'd trust."

"I do, Mr. Fox, I do…and you have more than proved yourself. If you trust her, that's good enough for me."

"I trusted Coleman Reese…"

Bruce noticed Lucius throwing him a sideways glance, and the embarrassed look that was in his eyes as he spoke the words. Bruce merely smiled.

"You're not infallible, Lucius. No one is."

Lucius turned his head and looked Bruce straight into the eyes, as if to see if his employer meant what he was saying. Then he returned the smile, shrugged and said;

"I guess not."

Lucius stood and cleared his throat, a move that made the room fall silent. He began the meeting, radiating a sense of security and style that Bruce would have thought ever present, if not for the previous whispered conversation.

Bruce sat silent, dividing his attention between the ongoing meeting and watching the city outside. For once he had a night of uninterrupted sleep behind him, so he wasn't tired, but the subjects being discussed around the table were subjects that did not require his participation. In fact, he really wasn't needed in attendance at this meeting, but attending it anyway was a welcome distraction from the activities Bruce Wayne normally engaged in during the days, and it gave the impression that he cared about the state of his company, which he did, even though the media portrayed him as a billionaire playboy who didn't give a damn. But that was the image he had created for himself upon his return to Gotham City, and he had to admit that there were certain advantages to being perceived as a rich idiot. One was, of course, that no one would suspect him, Bruce Wayne, of leading a double life. Rich playboy by day and masked vigilante by night, balancing those two polar opposites had both been his life for over a year now.

But Batman was a dangerous topic to approach these days, after what had happened on the last night of the Joker's rampage. In one night Batman had gone from vigilante to fully fledged outlaw, and to the man behind the mask it had been a conscious choice. The city needed to keep its faith in Harvey Dent. It needed to keep the faith in the existence of a hero, of a white knight that would come to its rescue. But his decision to shoulder the blame for the murders committed by a deranged District Attorney had, to say the least, complicated his own mission to save Gotham. Still, he could still be seen on a rare occasion, when the Gotham nights seemed darker than usual, perched on some high ledge, hiding in the shadows, watching, waiting to bring fear into the hearts of those who thought they had nothing to fear.

The glass and metal that created the city's skyline sparkled in the winter sunlight as Bruce Wayne let his gaze rest on the horizon. In his mind he was not sitting in a conference room in Wayne Tower, but soaring through the darkness of a city at night. He was no longer Bruce Wayne, but someone, something else entirely. He was strong, powerful, fearless…free. And secretly he longed for that feeling.

"So, Connie, what have you been _working_ on lately?"

The question came not from Lucius, but from a middle aged man in a grey suit, sitting near the other end of the table. He had blond hair and somewhat hollow eyes, giving him the look of a man who never in his life got enough sleep. His voice was a drawl, but as opposed to Lucius', there was nothing even remotely pleasant about it. The question sounded more like an accusation, like he was questioning Connie's ability to do something like work.

Bruce threw a look in Lucius' direction, and saw his eyes narrowing as they moved and fixed on the man. Bruce's eyes moved to Connie Tate, to see how she reacted. She seemed untouched, though she had undoubtedly caught the underlying meaning in the question.

"You surprise me, Charles. I thought you knew everything."

It was a statement, but it was neither humorous nor aggressive. If anything, it was dismissive, and everything about her body language said clearly that she wasn't going to bother beginning an argument with this guy, because she turned towards Lucius and addressed him and the rest of the people in attendance.

"I'm still working on completing the inventory of all the patents and equipment we have down in Research. I've got Abigail, Ethan, Charlotte and Damien with me on that, and we're hoping to get it done by Christmas…we've been working on it for a while now. Kevin and Susan are working on an Audio/Visual project that might get us a deal with a major company sometime after New Year's. Mark, Allan and Daniel decided to take their holiday early this year, so lucky them…"

Lucius smiled, and nodded in approval.

"Seems like you've got everything under control, Connie."

Connie Tate shrugged.

"I do. So unless you throw me some kind of curveball in the next couple of weeks, I've got things covered for Christmas and New Year's…"

Lucius' smile turned into a grin as he nodded.

"Good to hear."

The meeting carried on for another hour, in which Bruce learned that the blonde man in the grey suit was called Charles Levine, and that he was in charge of several financial aspects of Wayne Enterprises. Later he learned from Lucius that Mr. Levine had been in the company since the days of William Earle, Lucius' predecessor as CEO. Lucius was obviously not very fond of the man, understandable perhaps since Mr. Levine seemed to try very hard to undermine the authority of Connie Tate, Lucius' protégé if he could be said to have one. But, as Lucius had explained it to Bruce, it seemed that Mr. Levine was quite talented at what he was doing, so there was no logical reason to let him go, and as long as Ms. Tate could deal with Levine's skepticism Lucius did not want to risk his own integrity with his employees by beginning to fire people simply because he did not like them.

As they all stood to leave, Bruce whispered to Lucius;

"Could you introduce me to Ms. Tate, Lucius?"

Lucius turned and looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"You looking for a date, Mr. Wayne?"

Bruce hesitated for a moment, then said;

"Not exactly…I'm just curious about what kind of person you see fit to replace you in Research & Development."

Lucius shrugged.

"Fair enough."

Outside the conference room, in the bustle of people leaving, Lucius managed to find Connie Tate and lead her over to where Bruce stood, waiting.

"Connie, there's someone I'd like to introduce you to. This is Bruce Wayne. Mr. Wayne, this is Connie Tate."

She took a step towards him and the two of them shook hands.

"Pleased to meet you Mr. Wayne."

She smiled at him, and Bruce noted that the smile seemed genuine, a welcome change from shaking hands with business people who seemed to have a pearly white grin constantly plastered to their face, making them all look like people in commercials.

"You done working for the day, Connie?" Asked Lucius, who had taken a step aside to introduce Bruce to Connie, but now stepped forward again to join them.

Connie smiled sadly and shook her head.

"Nope. You remember that nice little inventory you've had me do for the past months…it's not quite done yet, I'm afraid, and I'm also afraid I'll have an uprising on my hands if it's not done by Christmas. Abigail, Ethan, Charlotte and Damien are all just as sick of it as I am, so you go and have fun…I'm doing inventory."

Lucius put a hand on her shoulders in what clearly was a comforting manner.

"You're doing good, Connie. Just don't wear yourself down to the bone, ok kid?"

Connie smiled and shook her head, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

"I'll be alright, Lucius. It's either inventory or unpacking some of the vast array of boxes that now is stacked up in my new apartment. And frankly I think that's just a choice between plague and cholera."

The three of them walked for a while until they reached an elevator, where Connie left them, nodding a silent 'goodbye' to Bruce and waving a casual hand in Lucius' direction before she headed left, through a glass door that read "Research and Development - Offices". Lucius Fox and Bruce Wayne got into the elevator and disappeared from sight.


	2. Let The Game Begin

**Disclaimer: **Batman and all his friends and foes in Gotham City belongs to DC Comics, and the rights to the movies Batman Begins and The Dark Knight belong to Warner Brothers. Connie Tate is an original character of my creation, and she belongs to me.

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_A smile curved__ on his lips and the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard sounded like music to his ears. He felt a childlike excitement at the prospect of putting his plan into action. He was convinced that it would work, that she would do exactly what he wanted her to do, because he had watched her for weeks He knew her, knew her better than some of the people she interacted with on a daily basis, and she was perfect. She was curious, smart and resourceful, and he looked forward to get the game started. She was worthy. She couldn't beat him, but she was a worthy player none the less. _

Connie sighed as the glass door slid shut behind her. Doing inventory was definitely not her favorite thing in the world, not even when it was inventory over research project at Wayne Enterprises, though there were many fun, strange and downright weird things there. As she sat down at her desk and pushed the 'on' button on her computer, she thought of all the people she knew who would not be doing overtime that Friday afternoon. Most of them would probably spend the evening as quality time with their families. Connie didn't have a family to go home to, and most of the time that was fine with her. She had plenty of friends and hobbies, so what spare time she had was definitely not lost to nothing. Clicking an icon on her desktop, opening the program Wayne Enterprises used to catalogue their equipment, she made a mental note to go swimming again soon, and to ask her niece if she wanted to go ice skating sometime during the weekend.

She was just about to start the tedious process of checking and adding things to the lists, when something happened on her computer screen. The picture suddenly froze, and the program she had opened minutes before disappeared. So, much to her surprise, did her entire desktop, and the screen went black. After checking quickly to see that she had not pulled out any cords or anything like that, she grabbed her office phone and dialed for support.

The guy on duty was a friend of hers, and he listened carefully as she explained what had happened to her computer. He told her that nothing seemed wrong or out of place as far as he could see from his numerous screens, but that he would come up and check her computer as soon as he had finished what he was doing.

Sighing, Connie prepared herself for having to wait a long time to get anything done. Thinking that she could at least go and get a cup of coffee while she waited, she was about to rise from her seat when the screen on her computer changed again. Instead of being dark her screen now displayed what looked a lot like an internet chat room, with black as background color and white as the color of writing and logo. A smaller window appeared with a blank field and the words; _Type in your name and click 'enter'._

She sat for a moment just staring at the screen, wondering what the hell was going on. This was not the kind of thing that normally happened, even at a crazy place like Research, and not the kind of thing the odd office prankster would do either. So what should she do? The smart thing, she thought, would be to simply go get a cup of coffee and wait until Jake, the guy from support, came up and fixed it, whatever it was, for her. But that would take a while…and Connie was curious, she wanted to know what was going on. Her final thought before she began typing was that she might come to regret what she was about to do.

Quickly she typed in the name she usually used when online; The First Lady. It was a nickname she had earned some years back when she trained kickboxing on a regular basis, given to her by the others at the gym because she was the only woman there. Now, she hit the 'enter' key on her keyboard and waited.

For the next minute or so, nothing happened, but then a new sentence appeared on the screen.

_Enigma has entered the chat room._

Connie was at a loss of what to do next. She had no idea who this 'Enigma' character was, and after all she wasn't the one who had initiated the chat in the first place. She waited.

_Enigma says: Have you ever read 'The Da__ Vinci Code', First Lady?_

Connie sat perplexed for a moment, looking disbelievingly at the screen in front of her. _The Da Vinci Code_? What did that have to do with anything?! Sure, she'd read _The Da Vinci Code_, along with the rest of Gotham, but she hadn't bothered to participate in the ensuing office discussion or anything.

_The First Lady says: Sure…_

Connie frowned when she saw the reply pop up on her screen.

_Enigma says: You seek a place like where the Line of the Rose was found. To find it, first find the name of one who would not yield, though gagged and bound. Science and knowledge was her call, now tell me, who is this saint who never did fall?_

Her eyes fixed at the screen, she watched as the chat room seemed to dissolve, and her desktop returned to normal. She began to wonder if she had just imagined the whole thing, and concluded that if she had, she needed to seriously consider taking some time off, because then she had definitely spent too much of her time in front of a screen lately. Then, a second thought snuck into her head, that there was really just one way to find out if it had been real. She scribbled the riddle hurriedly down on a nearby notepad, and stopped to look at it.

It was absurd really, like something taken out of a crime novel or a thriller movie. This sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen in real life. But, a voice in her head reminded her, this is Gotham City…weird things happen here with alarming regularity, and weirder things than this has most certainly happened.

Connie sat for several moments staring at the notepad in front of her. She was torn between what her conscience told her would be smart, and what her curiosity told her could be fun and challenging. Her conscience countered that what looked like a fun challenge now, might end up getting her killed later on, but her curiosity didn't give in at that. So, should she dismiss this whole thing as a trick of some in-house practical joker, or should she try and solve the riddle and see where it led her?

She couldn't let this go, and she knew it. It was a flaw, and she knew that too, but right now she didn't care. She needed to try and figure this out. This 'Enigma', whoever he or she was, had asked her about The DaVinci Code, so did that mean that the answer was related to that?

She clicked an icon on her desktop and a search engine opened in a new window. Quickly she typed in the words 'The Da Vinci Code' and hit 'search'. In the blink of an eye she had a long list of web pages containing the words, and one of them had a detailed summary of the book. She scanned through the text, and found that what she thought she remembered from reading the book had been right, there was a location, a church, in the book that had a rose line. Did that mean she was looking for a church? Maybe, but which one? There had to be at least a hundred churches in the city alone, and there was a possibility that the church, if it even was a church, was not located in Gotham City.

With quick strokes on the keyboard she had a list of churches in Gotham City on the screen in front of her. The riddle mentioned a saint, so she ruled out all the churches not related to saints and ended up with a new list. There were still many churches on it, though, and she sat for a while wondering how to proceed. She realized that the talk of science and knowledge was hopefully designed to point her in the direction of one specific saint. But there were a lot of saints, and she was looking for one. She eliminated all the men from the list, since the riddle referred to a 'her', and was left with maybe a dozen names. Still a lot of churches to visit…

Now it was the search engine's turn to help her again. She started searching through the names of all the female saints on her list, looking for anyone who had anything to do with science, and had been persecuted because of it. She realized too late that even though she had narrowed her search quite a bit, it would take a long while to find the one she was looking for. Finally, after a couple of hours of searching, when her eyes were red and watery after staring at the screen for ages, she found one who seemed plausible, and who had a church named after her – St. Catherine of Alexandria. According to the search engine St. Catherine was a 4th century saint, gifted in both science and theology, who had denounced the Roman Emperor because of his persecution of Christians. She was also counted as one of the fourteen Holy Helpers in the Catholic Church. It had to be her, Connie decided. Again, typing into the search engine, she found that St. Catherine's Church was located in Gainsly, near East City Park, only a few blocks away from Wayne Tower.

Her inner skeptic took over for a moment, telling her that this was too well done not to be a set-up. Someone, god knows who, obviously wanted her to go to that church, but why? She stood, stretched and walked over to one of the floor-to-ceiling windows that covered two walls of the Research offices, looking out over the city. It was dark now, and thousands of lights outlined the city skyline towards the black horizon. For a moment she stared out over the skyline, but then her eyes wandered to the streets far below. East City Park was a detour on her way home, and a detour after dark could actually get you killed in Gotham City. She was an idiot to risk her life for a riddle, and she knew it, but her curiosity would not let go. The realistic part of her mind told her that she might not even have solved the riddle right, St. Catherine's might not be the right place, the riddle could have been a whim of some random practical joker, it was still dangerous to roam around in Gotham after dark, despite everything the late District Attorney had done to clean up the streets… But neither of these thoughts could satisfy her curiosity.

Once again she looked down on the darkened streets, before making up her mind.

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**Author's Note: **A big thankyou to all my readers so far, and to BlueEyedGunSlinger and Vanafindiel for reviews! I'd love more reviews, so if you read this story, please take the time to leave one, because they really make my day. As you may have realized, riddles aren't usually something I spend a lot of time on, so this story is a challenge for me, but I promise I will do my best to make the riddles more complex (and possibly more dangerous) as the story progresses

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	3. Pieces of a Puzzle

**Disclaimer: **The character of Batman is, of course, the property of DC Comics, and the movies are the property of Warner Brothers. No profit is being made from the publication of this story, and no copyright infringement is intended. The character of Connie Tate is an original character of my creation, and she belongs to me.  
**Author's Note: **First of all, to those who have followed my story so far, I apologise for the delay in updating. I've been sick for a couple of weeks and haven't written much in that time, but I'm back now. Reviews are, as always, very much wanted and appreciated.

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_The screen in front of him was dark, but he could see shadows forming shapes against the light of th__e moon through a window. And, most importantly, he could see her. So far, everything had gone exactly as he planned it, she had done exactly what he expected her to do, and thus proven herself again as a worthy player. Almost despite himself he hoped she would continue to, now that he was about to throw a second challenge her way. Or rather, her first real challenge. This first one had been a lure, to get her to play with him. If she could be coerced into continue playing after tonight, he would pull out all the stops to make it the game of a lifetime. _

A caped figure crouched on the roof of Wayne Tower, scanning the street far below, just as a woman in her late twenties emerged from the front doors of the Tower. The figure watched as she ascended the black, glinting stone steps and joined the people on the sidewalk, heading down 24th Street, before crossing the street and heading down Liberty Avenue. She seemed vaguely familiar to him, but from this high above the ground it was hard to be certain.

The Batman watched as a marked police car sped past on the street below, reminding him that he now faced another obstacle in his fight against crime – the long arm of the law itself. He waited for a few more moments, hearing the sirens of the police car becoming more and more distant, before leaping effortlessly off the parapet he was standing on, and going into freefall. His finger moved to press a small button activating an electric current in his gloves, and as the gloves touched the fabric of his cape he was suddenly no longer falling, but soaring over the rooftops of the city.

The wind carried him for blocks, but eventually he had to find somewhere to land. He was over a residential neighborhood, and landed softy on a sloping, tiled, roof. All he could see as he scanned the area were the blue lights of a television left on, and a cat sneaking out through an open window. Apart from that, everything was quiet.

Behind him, on the other side of the roof, he noticed a small bell tower, and realized that he was standing on the roof of a church. From the street it looked as if it had been squeezed into the space between two apartment buildings, but he guessed that the church had been there first, long before the apartment buildings or the houses across the street were even thought of.

For a moment he stood simply savoring the silence, and allowed himself to be somewhat amazed that there still existed places where the night was silent and calm in the city. In the places where he normally spent his nights, it was never peaceful and seldom quiet.

He was brought quickly out of his reverie when he caught the sound of soft, hurried footsteps approaching. He soon saw the source of the footsteps, a woman dressed in a long, black coat, with shoulder length dark hair walked with firm steps towards the church. Slowly he moved out of the light of the winter moon, and into the shadows he knew so well, and watched the new arrival. He watched as she stopped in front of the wooden doors and hesitated, before slowly venturing up the stone steps, placing one hand on the door and pulled it towards her. To his, and it seemed also to her surprise, the door opened without a sound. Cautiously she entered into the darkness inside. Quickly, before the door slammed shut, he followed her inside, hiding in a dark corner just inside the door.

The sound of the door slamming sounded echoed loudly inside the deserted church, and Connie spun around and looked back, as if to see that someone hadn't followed her inside. She saw nothing, and turned back to face the altar of the church. The moon cast a ghostly light through the ornate, colored glass window that served as a natural focal point above it. Still hesitating, Connie stepped into the cone of light emanating from the window, trying to get her eyes used to the semi-darkness.

So this was St. Catherine's. Well, she was here, but she still had no idea why. She looked around, but saw no one else, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. She took a few more hesitant steps, but stopped. Sighing, she forced herself to face the facts. She had no idea what to do, or why she was here, and why was she still here? She should have been home by now; she should have unlocked her front door, thrown her coat on the floor of the hallway, grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down on the sofa that stood lonely in her living room. But here she stood in a deserted church, without a clue as to what, why or whom, all because she could never learn when to leave something alone. With a sigh she sat down on one of the front benches. After all, something _could_ happen. And if it didn't, maybe she would finally learn a lesson.

For a moment she just sat there with her eyes closed, and when she opened them again, she noticed something beside her on the bench. In the darkness it gave off a ghostly green glow, and she realized that it was a computer, more specifically a laptop of the notebook variety. If she hesitated at all, it was only a second before she picked it up and opened it. As she did so a series of images flashed across the screen, so fast she could barely get a glimpse of any of them, much less make anything of them.

Just when the images dissolved and the screen faded to black, a noise, loud and shrill like a siren, reverberated through the building. It was so high in volume and frequency that it made all the windows shatter, and glass rained down from above. In a second, Connie had dropped the laptop and crouched to the floor, her hands covering her ears. The noise didn't last more than a few seconds, but her ears were still buzzing, and her heart was pounding as she got to her feet.

Again she looked around, but she saw nothing now that she hadn't seen when she had entered, and out of nowhere an intense feeling of fear gripped her, a feeling of being watched from somewhere in the shadows. She decided to get out, to walk quickly out of the church, and get home, and try to forget how stupid she had been. Taking a deep breath in an effort to steady herself, she began walking back down the aisle, her eyes firmly fixed on the door.

Batman had stood in the shadows, watching with wonder as events unfolded in front of his eyes. Events that, to him, made no sense. He guessed that the woman had walked into this not knowing anything about what would happen. Her reaction, and the fact that she was now walking away from the whole thing, told him that she was not an accomplice of whoever was behind this. Pointless as it was, it was probably just some bored punk hacker, but still… He needed to know everything, including what she knew. And so, he stepped from the shadows.

Just as Connie reached out a hand to open the door, an arm extended from the darkness, barring her exit. She turned her head to see a black clad figure looming over her, and gasped involuntarily. Despite the darkness she recognized the figure from dozens of newscasts and debate shows. The Batman – hero vigilante turned murderer. A desperate thought ran through her head;  
_Five people. Five innocent people, in cold blood._

And then, unwillingly;

_I'm next…_

She jabbed at the shadows, where she assumed his face would be, and felt her fist hit something, but before she could make a run for it, the figure had retaliated, dragging her back into the room. She screamed, and tried to fight free, but she didn't have a chance against someone double her size and many times as quick to move. She found herself kneeling involuntarily as her legs were swept effortlessly from under her, and an arm wrapped itself around her neck. And then, a voice, dark and menacing, more of a growl than a voice;

"I do not want to hurt you. Why are you here?"

The arm around her neck let up ever so slightly, allowing her to breathe freely. She thought for a moment about what to answer. Truth was, she didn't have much of an answer to give, when it came to the reason she was there, his guess would be as good as hers.

"I don't know."

Her voice sounded surprisingly calm, comparing to how she felt.

"Then, what brought you here?"

With some difficulty, because of the arm the same thickness as a small tree still around her neck, Connie nodded towards the front of the room, and the laptop that lay half-opened, still glowing on the floor, amongst thousands of glass shards.

"That, I suppose."

To her surprise, the grip around her neck loosened, and he let her go. Without another word to her, he moved towards the laptop, picked it up with a gloved hand, and looked at it. For several moments he seemed to have forgotten her, and Connie thought about the possibility of trying to run again, but decided against it. He was probably as fast as he was strong, and then she wouldn't come far before he caught up with her. And there was another thing, her fear had abated, and she had become steadily more curious, not just about the mysterious riddle that had brought her there, but about _him_, whoever…whatever he was. But she was still shaking slightly as she got to her feet, and brushed shards of glass off of her clothes.

"What are you doing?"

The question escaped her lips before she could stop herself, and the second after she had uttered the words she felt his eyes on her, sharply surveying her.

"Someone set you up for this…why?"

Connie shrugged.

"I don't know. Probably some bored guy who thought it would be fun to see if he could trick me into doing what he wanted me to."

"He succeeded."

Connie raised an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

He turned, and looked at her, and she got the feeling that he was studying her more intently now.

"You are here. So he must have succeeded."

His voice was neither accusing nor amused, but simply stating a fact, equal to stating that the sky was blue.

For the tenth time in what seemed like only minutes the thought; _Who the hell is this guy?!_ flashed across Connie's mind. Right now, nothing about him made sense to her. He was a known murderer, on the top of the Gotham PD's most wanted list, he had fighting skills like a top trained soldier, he knew enough about stealth to make himself virtually invisible, and he had a vocabulary to rival Yoda's, and yet, she was still there, and she was still alive.

She watched as the laptop was closed and disappeared in the folds of the long black cloak that hung from his shoulders. He turned and walked towards her, and she felt an involuntary shudder as he stopped right in front of her. She had to tilt her head slightly in order to look into his eyes, together with his mouth and jaw the only features of his face visible. His voice was still like a growl, but in a strange way it sounded softer now.

"Go home. Whoever is behind this did it to lure you in, and scare you. You were lucky. If he contacts you again…don't take the bait."

He walked away from her, and without as much as a look back at her, he disappeared in the same shadows he had emerged from. Connie stood for several moments staring into the darkness before she started to walk.


	4. In Terms of Concealment

**Disclaimer: **Batman is the property of DC Comics, movie rights is the property of Warner Brothers. In short; I do not own Batman. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended. The only characters that belong to me are the original characters I've created, including Connie Tate, her family and some of her colleagues in research.  
**Author's Note: **Again, sorry for the long update time. Unfortunately I'm not sure I can promise a swifter update on the next chapter, the reason being that I have to make school a priority, at least temporarily. I'm a third year student at university, and I've got no less than three essays all due in the course of the next weeks, not to mention my exams are coming up faster than I'd like them to. You have my word that I will _try_ to get som fiction writing done in the weeks to come, but like I said, I can't promise you a quick update. On a much more pleasant note I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed this so far, and everyone who's added me and the story to their favourites-lists. Your feedback means so much to me, thankyou. I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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_He didn't like anger. He didn't like the feeling of it coursing through his veins, and he did not like the way it tried to get him to give up control. He didn't like anger, but now he was angry never the less. Everything had lined up perfectly, the church was empty, his cameras had worked just as they should, she had showed up, like he had expected her to, and his little stunt had gone off without a hitch. The only piece that didn't fit into the puzzle? The stupid bat-man! Who did he think he was, interrupting a well laid plan like that?! It was clear to him now, that it was time to raise the stakes__. Show the city, and the bat, what he could do. And she was the key, although she didn't know it – yet. _

Brushed steel felt cold against her skin as she leant back against the fridge. Her eyes were seemingly studying the label of a bottle of beer, but her mind was frantically replaying the events of the evening. There were so many questions racing through her head that a part of her wanted to scream. Why had 'Enigma', whoever it was, lured her to that church? Just to scare her? In that case, what was the point in that? And why had the Batman suddenly appeared? And, most importantly, how the hell had she got into this mess, whatever it was? She knew the answer to the last question, of course. Her curiosity had once again gotten her into trouble, though this time it seemed that she had outdone herself once again. Why could she never learn?

She sighed, drained the beer bottle, and got up. The kitchen was bare. It was one of the rooms in her apartment that she hadn't yet furnished, so large surfaces of black stone and appliances of brushed steel stood like monuments in the landscape. Along with her new job, her salary had increased dramatically, something that had allowed her to move to a much better neighborhood, and also presented her with the ability to go out to dinner more often. Because of this the kitchen had ended up near the bottom on her priority list of rooms to move into, after the bedroom, the living room, and the office.

As she made her way through the apartment and fell exhausted onto the bed, she thought that it was a good thing that the next day was Saturday. At least she didn't have to get up and go to work.

The winter sun was shining high in the sky when Connie woke up, and from her bedroom window she saw that a white, glittering layer of snow coated the city's rooftops. She smiled. Looking out at something so beautiful, who would know that this city was one of the most crime-ridden in the country?

She went through the living room on her way to the kitchen, found the remote control and turned the TV on. The screen showed a live segment from downtown Gotham, a male reporter was standing in the foreground of the worst traffic chaos Connie could remember having seen, and when you had grown up in Gotham, that said quite a lot. The image changed to an overview shot from what was probably a helicopter, and Connie turned up the volume to hear what was being said.

…_leaving all of the city's transportation systems temporarily disabled, when an unidentified hacker broke into the Gotham Department of Transportation's main computer. A spokesman for the Gotham City Police Department has confirmed that the department's Major Crimes Unit has been assigned to the case, and that unit technicians are now processing evidence collected at the Department of Transportation Headquarters. _

Connie raised an eyebrow as the camera zoomed in on the traffic chaos downtown. She felt sorry for the police officers doing their best to cope with the massive crowd of very displeased people now stuck in traffic for a whole lot longer than they had imagined. As she listened to the reporter repeat himself, an unpleasant thought snuck into her head. It was unlikely of course, but what if this had some form of connection to what had happened to her the night before? To successfully get into a main server like the Department of Transportation's, and get out without getting caught, you had to be good. The same was true for the system at Wayne Enterprises. Jake hadn't seen anything unusual traffic on his monitors when 'Enigma' had contacted her, and to accomplish that while avoiding detection on such an advanced system took considerable skill, and considerable guts.

Connie shook her head. She didn't really want to consider the possibilities of what a skilled hacker could do to a modern city like Gotham, and she did definitely not like the possibility of anyone trying and succeeding to break into the computer system at Wayne Enterprises. What had happened to her the night before had scared her, but it hadn't proved dangerous. If someone got a hold of some of the sketches or prototypes stored at the company, things could get very dangerous, very fast. Every employee in the research and science departments still had the results of the disaster in the Narrows firmly on their minds. The Narrows incident was the reason that the Research department had spent months doing inventory, making sure that no other prototypes were missing. So far, everything in the archives had been accounted for, but if someone had the skill to hack into the database, there was no telling if something else might go missing, or what might happen if it did.

She changed the channel, and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Well, 'breakfast' wasn't really the right term, since it was already past midday, but it was her first meal of the day regardless of what she chose to call it. She had no plans that day, except to maybe unpack some boxes and to figure out what to wear to the Christmas party for the employees of Wayne Enterprises that evening. She was looking forward to it. Well, not to the disapproving glances of Charles Levine and his friends in the finance section, but with some luck she wouldn't be seeing much of him, and the people she worked with in research knew how to have fun, so it would probably be a good night.

In the very secret basement of a very upscale apartment complex across town, Bruce Wayne sat in front of an array of screens, studying images he had managed to retrieve from the notebook computer. It hadn't been easy. Whoever this ghost in the machine was, he knew his computer security, and the laptop had been sealed tight. There was more to the laptop than those images, and he knew it, but the security measures taken, which included fingerprint authentication, made it impossible for him to figure out just what it was. It seemed only one person was meant to access it, and it wasn't him. He concluded that the woman, whom he had met at Wayne Enterprises as Bruce Wayne, and in the church as Batman, was the target. If 'target' was the right word…the windows were a dramatic effect, not designed to kill or harm. Maybe she was more of a messenger, the body of the ghost in the machine, lured into doing its bidding.

He could not make sense of the images. There were four of them, in high resolution, and all of them looked like they could be from postcards from around the world. Two he recognized, one was of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, and another was of the interior of a nightclub in the city he had been to a couple of times, called DEEP. The two others were of a lake and what looked like a coral reef, but more than that he couldn't say about them. He sighed, and pressed a button on the keyboard in front of him, making the screen showing the images go blank for a second, before coordinating itself with the rest of the screens. The screens began moving with different images, all from various TV channels and news networks. One caught his attention and he turned the volume up, just as Alfred Pennyworth walked into the room.

_The city's Department of Transportation was temporarily incapacitated earlier today when an unidentified hacker broke into their main computer. This created large traffic jams and delays in public transportation all over the city…_

"I was just about to alert you to that, sir. It seems some rascal decided it was a good day to create quite a bit of chaos…and it seems he attained his goal. Did you get anything from that laptop you brought back last night?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Something, yes. But there's more to it than what I can see…and I'm beginning to think that there's more to this as well." He gestured towards the screen showing the news report.

"I don't like this, Alfred. Chances are that there's just some youngster trying a new way to get his kicks, but…if it's something more sinister, then…" Bruce let his voice trail off.

"Then _someone_ ought to dig deeper," Alfred finished.

Bruce turned to look at his butler and closest friend and saw a devilish glint in the old man's eyes.

"You know me to well, Alfred."

A small smile tugged at the corners of Alfred's mouth as he asked;

"Where will you start, Master Bruce?"

Bruce leaned slightly forward, extending his hand to press a few more keys on the keyboard in front of him, and two of the screens changed to show a picture of a woman plus her name, address, and other personal information. In one corner the logo of Wayne Enterprises was visible.

"Well, I'd like to know what role she plays in all of this. She was at the church last night, probably lured there by the same person who left the laptop there for her to find. My guess is that her fingerprint opens it…which means, that to figure out what's on it, I need to know what she knows."

It was around five o'clock, and dusk had begun to descend on the city. Connie sat on her bed, her hair full of curlers, surveying the dress she planned to wear. Another perk of her new job was that her paycheck now supported shopping more than once or twice a month. This dress was a recent acquisition, and she'd been waiting for an occasion to wear it. It looked vaguely like a kimono, it had a low v-neck and the skirt was made of dark grey silk. A broad belt in the same color as the skirt clung to a bodice made of a sheer fabric in a lighter grey color, embroided with a silver leaf motif, so that although the fabric was sheer, it covered the essential parts, and then some. The long sleeves were in the same fabric as the bodice and also embroided.

She rose from the bed, took the dress from its hanger and slipped it over her head, enjoying the brief feeling of cool silk against bare skin. For a moment she surveyed herself in a full length mirror beside her dresser, thinking that she wouldn't look half bad once she got the curlers out of her hair, and put her high heels on. She headed to the bathroom, and began removing the curlers from her hair. When she was done she ran her fingers through her hair a couple of times, brushing some of it away from her face and securing it with an ornate butterfly. On her way back through the apartment she put on her shoes and pulled a large, black shawl from her closet.

Connie didn't know a lot about Bruce Wayne, except for what was in the news and in the tabloids, but as far as she could tell when she entered the ballroom at the Gotham Grand, he knew how to throw a party. Officially it was the entire Board of Directors who had treated their employees to this party, but when she looked out over the ballroom at how spectacular everything was…well, then it sufficed to say that Charles Levine couldn't have thought this up in his wildest dreams.

The ballroom was a large, rectangular room where one of the long walls were entirely of glass, creating the illusion that the ballroom itself was an extension of the garden outside. The decorations inside built on that illusion, because, at least to Connie, it felt like walking into a castle of ice. She descended the main staircase while scanning the room for familiar faces and found a few, most of them from Research. When she reached the bottom of the staircase a colleague from her department emerged from the crowd, greeting her by pulling her into a hug.

"Connie…! Hi, nice to see you."

She recognized the bushy, blonde hair and the broad smile immediately. It belonged to an engineer called Kevin Merrick, who had lately spent his working days in one of the department's rooms on sub-basement level, trying to think up workable designs for what might be revolutionary audio equipment.

"Hi, Kevin. Good to see you above ground."

The look on Kevin's face gave away that he too was glad to be out of the Research department, for a night at least.

"So listen, Abby, Charlotte, Susan, Damien and me have pretty much occupied one of the tables, so if or when you get tired of mingling with people who think they're better than you, come find us."

Connie laughed and nodded as Kevin smiled again and moved past her into the crowd. She looked around, and saw many people she recognized by appearance but didn't really know. She felt a brush of relief when she spotted Lucius on the other side of the room, and headed in his direction.

Lucius Fox greeted her with the same enthusiastic smile he always seemed to have, and swiftly grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and handed it to her.

"You look like you could use a drink."

Connie nodded, and smiled gratefully.

"Yeah…thanks."

Before any of them could say anything more, a sensational whisper swept across the room, and Connie turned to see that Bruce Wayne had just entered the room escorting two extraordinarily beautiful women, one on each arm.

Smiling, Connie leant towards Lucius, whispering;

"He sure knows how to make an entrance."

Lucius grinned and nodded in agreement. They both watched as the crowd parted for Gotham City's golden boy and his good looking entourage. Connie couldn't resist a smile. She hadn't thought it possible for one man to feed all the gossip columnists and glossy magazines of Gotham, not until the unexpected return of Bruce Wayne. After that, she was thoroughly proved wrong, as it seemed she could hardly pick up a newspaper or magazine without seeing his picture.

After a few more minutes of buzzing whispers, the conversations around the room returned to normal, and Connie and Lucius began a discussion on one of the Research department's newest developments. What had drawn Lucius Fox to Connie Tate was a perception of shared enthusiasm. Their first meeting had been after a lecture he had given, where Connie had been an eager listener. She was not afraid to ask question, pose arguments or opinions, and she was truly enthusiastic about her craft. As he got to know her, Lucius had discovered that her enthusiasm extended to most other things in life as well, and that Connie Tate had an inexplicable ability to turn your bad day into a better one. In addition to that she was good at her job, usually had an easy-going disposition and as far as he could tell from the feedback, she had quickly become well liked and respected by those who worked under her supervision.

The two of them stood deep in conversation for a while, until Lucius was called away, and Connie decided to see if she could find her colleagues from Research. On her way around the room she passed one of the glass doors leading out to the garden, and saw another colleague, Ethan, on the outside, a cigarette in his mouth.

He turned as she opened the door, and nodded a greeting. Ethan was the polar opposite of Kevin, quiet, bordering on brooding, and definitely not the life of a party, but smart as hell.

"You needed a time-out from being sociable, Ethan?"

He nodded, unceremoniously throwing the remainder of his cigarette into a bare flowerbed nearby.

"Yeah. You?"

Connie sighed.

"I'm bored. Apart from you, Lucius Fox, and the rest of our gang in Research, I don't know anyone here I can have a civilized conversation with. Regardless, I mean, do I look like I care if the stock prices soar or if the latest Dior couture collection is to die for?! Because I hate having to pretend that I do."

Ethan laughed a short, bark-like laugh and pulled out another cigarette, turning away from her and sheltering it with a hand to get a light. Connie found that she was standing next to a tall stone flowerbed, and almost without thinking she let one hand glide gently over the snow that lay on the edge of it. Suddenly an idea formed in her head. Maybe there was a way to have some fun here after all…

She looked up at Ethan, who was still trying to light his cigarette, cursing the gentle but cold wind that caused him trouble. In a split second she made up her mind, scooped up a handful of snow in her hand and gently squeezed it into a ball. The snow was light and dry, so the ball wasn't very solid, but it would do just fine. Quickly, before Ethan could realize what was coming, she threw the snowball at him, aiming for his hands where they sheltered the cigarette in his mouth.

Although the snowball nearly disintegrated before hitting him, the effect was still instantaneous. Ethan straightened, and his eyes quickly found her.

"Connie! What the hell?!"

Connie couldn't keep a grin off her face.

"Ethan, I couldn't resis…"

That was all she had the chance to say, before Ethan retaliated, and she had to duck. She only partially avoided the snowball and shrieked in delight when she felt cold crystals of snow against the bare skin of her neck.

When she looked up again she discovered that two more of the Research crew had come out to join them. She saw the surprised looks on the faces of Susan Asher and Abigail Lindley, before the looks turned to common mischief, and the two of them joined in on the action. Connie couldn't help but grin again, and thought of how lucky it was that the people she worked with had the same humor and talent for good natured mischief as she did. She wouldn't have lasted a day in finance with the likes of Levine, that's for sure.

If you've ever done anything that resembles starting a snowball fight at a company party, in a company like Wayne Enterprises, you will have discovered, like Connie and her colleagues now discovered, that you are bound to attract attention.

Connie looked up and, to her initial surprise, saw that their snowball fight had gathered quite a few spectators, who now stood watching them through the glass wall. When she saw Lucius' grinning on the other side of the glass, she laughed out loud. Then she noticed another familiar face on the other side of the glass, this one belonging to Bruce Wayne. Next to him, one on either side stood the two women who had accompanied him in earlier, both sporting expressions somewhere in between shock and humorous disbelief. But the look on Bruce Wayne's face did not resemble that of his escorts, he was smiling, and it was a smile unlike what Connie had seen before, knowing, like perhaps he could have been out there with them had he not been Bruce Wayne.

Connie felt someone grip her arm, and turned to see Susan Asher at her side, smiling and nudging her to go back inside. The fun was over now that they had discovered their audience, and still laughing and brushing snow off of their clothes, the four of them were back to the warmth of the Gotham Grand ballroom.

Inside they were met by a mixture of reactions. Some looked at them with disbelieving eyes, others applauded, and a final portion of the people present chose to ignore them completely. Connie shook her head slightly in disbelief. Could an innocent snowball fight really cause this much fuss in this crowd? Apparently, the answer was yes.

"They're only disappointed that I wasn't out there with you…then the gossip magazines would have a story to print tomorrow."

A familiar voice behind her made her turn, and she found herself face to face with Bruce Wayne. Surprised, Connie smiled at him.

"Oh, I'm sure the magazines will find something to print anyway…" Connie paused for a moment, and then added;

"I didn't know billionaire playboys engaged in snowball fights? I would have thought yachting around the Caribbean with a boatful of beautiful women was more your thing…"

He smiled, his teeth were white and even, but not fluorescent like many other's seemed to be these days.

"I'm actually quite versatile for a billionaire…you'd be surprised."

Connie raised an eyebrow, but continued to smile. She had to admit that she found him charming, but he was not her type. And judging by the looks of the two women he had brought to the party, she wasn't his type either.

"I don't doubt it," she said finally.

"Can I get you a drink?"

To say that she was surprised at that final question would be an understatement. It was the last thing she had expected him to say, if anything she had expected the conversation to end abruptly at her last utterance. She glimpsed Bruce Wayne's two escorts over his shoulder, and thought that it would be a bad idea to try and steal their catch away from them. But she couldn't resist leaning slightly towards him and half whisper;

"You'd better not. Your two models are right behind you…I wouldn't want to get between those two and their prey."

She watched as his smile faded ever so slightly, and took a step back to watch as the two women came up to him, one on either side. Connie remained standing, watching as his expressions changed from what seemed a genuine smile and back to the expression of the suave playboy, again untouchable to a mere mortal like her.

She shrugged, and finally found her way to the table that her research colleagues had occupied for the better part of the night. She spotted Susan, Ethan and Abbey already sitting there, laughing, presumably gauging the reactions they had gotten from the impromptu snowball fight. With a sigh, Connie let herself slide onto a chair and joined them.

It was past midnight when Bruce Wayne re-entered his penthouse apartment. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, and there was a faint trace of lipstick on his collar, but he was alone. He went past the panoramic windows without stopping to admire the spectacular view of Gotham at night. He knew too well what the city looked like at night, and it was nothing like the view from these windows on top of the world. Without breaking step he walked through the living room area and the kitchen and out into another hallway. The sound of another person's footsteps behind him told him that Alfred had picked up on his presence. As he moved to put pressure on the wall that would shift and allow him entrance to the underground level where the part of him that was a creature purely of the night dwelt in the daylight hours, he heard the familiar voice of his butler.

"I take it your pursuit of this Ms. Tate at the party was unsuccessful, Master Wayne?"

Bruce stopped and turned to face Alfred, offering a wry smile.

"Never knew that a couple of models could actually ruin an evening."

"What will you do now, Master Wayne? Try and scare some answers out of the poor girl?"

Bruce shook his head.

"No. I have another idea on how to approach Connie Tate, but it will have to wait until Monday. Now, I think it's time for Batman to approach Commissioner Gordon, and find out what he knows about this sabotage."

With those words, Bruce Wayne disappeared through a hole in the wall and out of sight.

The sky over Gotham city was a clear line of deep blue, scattered with stars, and crystals of frost crept over every available surface. Gotham City Hall was a tall limestone building dating back to the mid-19th century, with broad columns and elaborate stone carvings adorning its roof. Among the carvings a gargoyle-like creature crouched, as if frozen in mid-motion. The only indication that this gargoyle was not part of the planned architecture was a white, frosty mist coming from its mouth, betraying life.

City Hall was quiet, as you would expect on a Saturday night. Government employees in Gotham couldn't exactly be said to be that eager on the overtime, except maybe one… The light in the Police Commissioner's office was still lit, just as Batman had expected. What he hadn't expected was to find the window of the Commissioner's office wide open in mid-winter. But, he thought, maybe Gordon had learned something about when to expect _him._

He attached his grapple to the ledge of the roof and leapt effortlessly over the side of the building, using the grapple to steady his decent, and landed on the windowsill of the Commissioner's office.

James Gordon was instated as Police Commissioner of Gotham City when the city was in worse of a mess than it had been in decades, but had somehow managed to keep his head above water and get some control back over the city. Now, five or so months after his instatement, his days were still the longest of anyone on the Force, and his family had all but forgotten what he looked like, but at least his hard work contributed to calm the ripples of the Joker's destruction.

"I was beginning to wonder if you'd show up."

Gordon sat with his back towards the open window, but turned as Batman stepped down from the windowsill.

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're here about the hacker?"

Batman nodded.

"What do you know about him?"

Gordon shrugged, and grabbed a folder from a stack on his desk, containing only a few sheets of paper. He handed the folder to Batman.

"Not much. Techs from CSU have been trying all day to find evidence that someone was even inside the system, but no luck. If it wasn't for the chaos he caused downtown, no one would know this guy even existed…"

"And that's exactly why he's doing it…whoever he is. He wants attention…"

"He's getting it… You think that's all he wants?"

Gordon could see the eyes behind the mask surveying him. They both knew the answer to that question.


	5. It's Your Turn

**Disclaimer:** Batman is the property of DC Comics, and the rights to the movies are owned by Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended with the writing of this story, and no profit is being made.  
**Author's Notes: **It's been over two months since I updated this story, and once again I'm sorry it took me so long. Real life has made a habit of getting in the way of my writing, first it was the school essays that swamped me, and then my exams came sneaking up...and now, it's the preparations for Christmas that's getting the best of me. But, I hope that the length of this chapter is some consolation for those of you that might have waited for an update. Reviews are, as always, my encouragement and my addiction so please leave one if you're reading. Enjoy!

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It was late in the day when Bruce Wayne walked into the offices of his company's Research department. He had waited this long because he hoped to find the department offices empty, or rather, he hoped to find Connie Tate working alone.

The offices of Wayne Enterprises' Research Department were thoroughly modern, furnished with glass and steel, well lit, and containing the latest in technology, mostly the company's own. He was in luck. The only other person he could see in the large room was the one he was looking for. Connie Tate sat at a large desk, typing on a keyboard. As he entered, she leant back in her chair and stretched, removing a pair of wire rimmed spectacles from her nose. She didn't see him at first, not until the hiss of the sliding doors made her aware that someone else was in the room.

"Mr. Wayne…you're a rare person to see here. Out looking for Lucius?"

She moved her chair away from the desk and turned towards him, a smile playing around the corners of her mouth. He approached her, smiling what he hoped was a disarming smile.

"Actually, Ms. Tate, I was looking for you."

A look of surprise flashed across her face, but when she spoke again the tone of her voice was still the same, kind yet professional.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Wayne?"

He paused for a moment, a little unsure of how to proceed. He found Connie Tate to be a somewhat difficult person to read. Maybe it was because he had seen several different aspects of her personality through the space of a few brief meetings. His first glimpse of her had been of a strong-minded woman, capable of being very professional and to the point. His second glimpse had been of a woman the complete opposite, playful, enthusiastic, with a kind of absolute independence he rarely saw in his social circle. He thought that, this time, maybe he could afford to be honest. Within reason, of course.

"I don't know if you saw the news yesterday…the hacker who got into the Department of Transportation?"

"Of course I saw. Couldn't have avoided it if I wanted to…What about it?"

Bruce shrugged.

"Well, it got me thinking…if someone could break into the Department of Transportation, maybe they could also break into our database. I was just wondering what kind of security measures are in place here?"

"Isn't that something you ought to take up with Lucius, or the guys dealing with security?"

"Please? I'm not looking for absurd details, I just want a quick run-through…"

She raised an eyebrow, and her attitude showed skepticism.

"…I brought food."

At this final utterance she laughed, and shook her head slightly in disbelief at what she perceived as the absurdity of the situation.

"You do know how to appeal to a woman with a career, don't you?"

She sighed, and waved him over.

"Alright, grab a chair, and I'll try to answer you as best I can."

He smiled, and descended the three steps down to where her desk was. As he came closer he could see that in addition to the keyboard, the computer screen and a digital picture frame, a small, black robot shuffled around aimlessly, some papers and folders lay scattered, and instead of numerous post-its, as one might expect, several things were written directly on the glass. The desk were alike every other in the room, but still distinctly belonging to Connie Tate.

The food had been Alfred's idea, he had even offered to cook, but Bruce had decided on takeout. Takeout seemed more in the style of Connie Tate, and he wanted to step onto her level, at least for a while. It was a balancing act. Bruce Wayne the playboy wouldn't care about computer security, and wouldn't be considered an equal by Connie Tate. Batman had already scared the living daylights out of her once, not a good starting point for getting information out of a strong-minded woman like her. A third option would have been to approach her in disguise, but it was unlikely that she would give away anything to a stranger without connection to the company. That left him with the part of Bruce Wayne that was neither playboy, nor vigilante, but somewhere in between.

As he sat down facing her, she gestured towards the robot walking around her desk, and said;

"Have you met Simon?"

She grinned, and continued with an explanation before he had the chance to answer.

"Simon was the first robot I built from scratch, and programmed, back in college. In a way, me being here is his doing…he was the project that got Lucius' interested in working with me. He doesn't really do anything except to walk around and not bump into things, but I let him shuffle around my desk anyway. He can be a welcome distraction from the screen sometimes…"

She smiled again, before backtracking to the reason he was now sitting there in front of her.

"So, what does Bruce Wayne want to know about the security of his company that he's content to have a mere engineer answer?"

"Well, first of all if it's possible for someone to break into our computers?"

She shrugged.

"Short answer; yes. It's possible, but whoever attempted that would either be very stupid, or _very_ good. Our security is tight, the system we use is the best in the business…"

"Are you sure you're in the right department, Ms. Tate? I think they could use your talents down in advertising…"

He realized too late that he had used too much of his playboy persona, because there was a flash of sudden insecurity in her eyes, not so much directed at herself, but rather towards him, as if she was asking herself the question of how wise it would be to introduce him to the company's security measures. He gave her a sheepish smile, and his voice was much less cocky when he added;

"I'm- I'm sorry…that didn't sound like I wanted it to..."

She held up a hand to stop him, but at the same time fixed him with a pair of brilliant brown eyes.

"Mr. Wayne, I'm one of those people who, if I get asked intangible questions, give intangible answers. If you want to know anything that's not in the promotional material, I suggest you ask the question straight, instead of beating round the bush."

He smiled. It was almost like talking to Lucius Fox, if you wanted information it was best to go straight to the point, and not try to camouflage anything. Of course, with Lucius he didn't need to camouflage his intentions anymore, but he couldn't extend that same courtesy to Connie Tate.

"Ok, the thing is…this hacker has me worried. He's good, and he's got guts – he proved that today. He's not an idiot, he had to be aware that if he pulled a stunt like that, the police would be after him. I don't have to tell you that there's a vast array of things in our database that can cause a lot of damage. You were here when the Narrows thing happened, even if you weren't on the company payroll yet, you saw what that did…"

She cocked her head to one side and a soft smile appeared on her lips. The gesture made him stop in mid-sentence to survey her.

"Why are you smiling?"

She shrugged.

"You surprise me, Mr. Wayne. To be honest, I hadn't expected this kind of insight from you…"

"I'm trying to impress you."

For a second she looked at him, as if she was in shock by this statement, but then she burst into a liberating laughter. He allowed himself to chuckle, pleased that he had read her well enough to invoke her sense of humor. The same utterance made to one of the women he had spent Saturday night with probably would have invoked the expectation of a marriage proposal.

"You're succeeding."

Silence fell and there was a moment where both studied the other, neither quite sure of what to say next. Bruce caught himself wondering how, and perhaps more importantly why, he had allowed this conversation to take a somewhat unexpected turn. It had somehow turned into something more personal than trying to get information out of a company employee, and they hadn't even gotten started on the food yet. Maybe his plan was working a little too well? That would be a first…

To break the silence before it became uncomfortable for the both of them, he nodded towards the digital picture frame on her desk, asking a question he now realized would have been a more appropriate start to their conversation.

"Husband and kid?"

The picture showed two people, a square-jawed, dark haired man maybe in his early forties, and a little girl, maybe eight or ten years old, with auburn hair. Their faces were close together, both grinning broadly at the camera. The picture must have been taken outside, because Bruce could make out the caps and scarves the two were wearing.

Almost instinctively she turned her head towards the frame, and smiled.

"Uhm, no. Brother and niece, actually."

He was about to back down, thinking that if he hadn't gone too far before, he almost certainly had now. This was not what he had come to talk about at all, and his questions, which would have sounded shallow and superficial to the people Bruce Wayne usually surrounded himself with, sounded more personal in a way when he asked them to her.

In an unexpected gesture she stretched her arms alongside the armrests of her chair, making both her hands clearly visible to him. It looked like a conscious movement on her part, maybe to physically show him that she wore no wedding ring without actually saying anything, but he couldn't be sure.

"Look, Mr. Wayne, I've been head of this department for a year and a half, I've got very few connections here compared to many others, I would be an easy scapegoat if another prototype should go missing."

"What are you saying, Miss Tate?"

She leant slightly towards him, her gaze suddenly so insistent it threatened to nail him to his chair.

"I'm saying that although it may seem like I got a free pass into an important company position, I've worked hard to get here. I'm too stubborn, too proud and too damn good to risk my career on some hacker looking for thrills, and I hope you didn't come here tonight looking for a possible scapegoat, because that would be your mistake."

"Miss Tate, I assure you, I'm not accusing you of anything. Lucius Fox speaks very highly of you, and he's trusted you with leading a department crucial to company success. I have no reason to think ill of anyone worthy of that kind of respect from Mr. Fox. Now, do you mind if we change the subject to something a little less controversial, like food for instance?"

She studied him for a second, looking for sincerity in his eyes, and when she found it she shook her head, a motion that made a few strands of hair dance around her face. He noticed that her hands, that had been gripping the armrests of her chair, now loosened.

He retrieved the bag of takeout and placed it on the table, standing as he removed the different boxes.

"The Ocelot…I've heard of that place, it's supposed to be one of the hottest restaurants in the city. I heard one of the ladies down in Public Relations complain about that she couldn't get a reservation. I didn't know a place like that did takeout…"

Bruce shrugged.

"They don't, except when you're the owner."

"I see… I suppose that's another perk of having enough money to buy all of Gotham."

"You could put it that way."

He gave her a brief smile, and Connie noted that he didn't sound like he had a need to impress her with all his money. Not that he necessarily would have succeeded. More likely she would have lost what respect she had gained for Bruce Wayne in the space of their few meetings. She hoped that she still had enough integrity and common sense not to be fooled blind by money and appearances, for her own sake.

* * *

Gotham Square was located in Reatton, west of South City Park and across the Gotham River from the City Hall District, and had marked the center of the city in its early days. Today Gotham Square was a commercial district, known for its delightful chaos of screens and lights, mostly in huge digital advertisements. It was where the Police Commissioner had held a touching speech in the memory of the late District Attorney, and where the annual lighting of the Gotham City Christmas Tree took place every December. It was where the people of Gotham mourned or celebrated together, but lately it had been much more of the first than the latter.

It was Tuesday the 5th of December at lunchtime, and Gotham Square was full of people on their break, buying street food from vendors, discussing how the Blades were having a good season, especially after beating the rivaling Metropolis Mammoths the night before. It was a day like any other.

Commissioner Jim Gordon sat behind his desk, spending yet another lunch hour trying to get just enough paperwork done to keep his head above water. It was in these hours, which seemed to stretch on forever that he wished he'd stayed in Chicago. The pay would have been a lot less, obviously, but at least he would have seen his wife and kids once in a while. Now it was always something that kept him in the office until late in the evening, sometimes even early morning. Few cases as disturbing as The Joker, but still, there was always _something_, like the serial killer turned cannibal who were ripping his victims apart piece by piece, leaving mutilated corpses along the shore line, or the sniper who took out community activist Teresa Williams with one shot, not leaving a single trace. And every time he tried to apologize to Barbara, tried to explain how he wished that somehow things could have turned out differently, she just smiled a sad smile at him and put her arms around him, snuggling up against his neck. About then his phone would ring, and he'd be leaving her again.

He sighed and looked out the window. It was a crisp winter day, the clouded sky shaded grey and white on the horizon, making the city skyline stand out even clearer than usual. He could see the flashing commercials on Gotham Square from across the river, glaring against the bright winter light.

Scribbling his signature on yet another form, stuffing it into a manila folder, he was about to call the paperwork quits when a sudden flash of light coming from across the river made him look up. He hurried to the window, and even from a distance he could see that all the screens on Gotham Square were now uniform, showing the same black still frame. Opening the window in an attempt to get a better view, he heard a metallic voice coming from many speakers at once. He couldn't make out every word the voice was saying, but he heard enough to make him curse, turn on his heel and rush out of the office. Already he knew one thing for sure: This wasn't good.

As opposed to Commissioner Gordon, the people in Gotham Square saw and heard everything that happened on the screens around them, and it scared many of them. The screens had all turned black in a flash, before dark green letters in gothic script appeared on them, forming words and sentences. As the words were forming, and the people in the square were squinting to make out what they said, a cold, menacing voice spoke.

_Remember, remember the fifth of December  
When Gotham was crippled and forced to surrender  
I know of no reason  
Why the Riddler and his liaison  
Should ever be forgot_

Several of the people in the square looked at each other with wonder. That sounded oddly like a threat, didn't it? What on earth was going on?

Again, the voice spoke, this time in secretive in a mock whisper.

_Do you know what this means? Of course you don't…And why should you? That's why I'm going to give you an explanation, and you're going to have to listen carefully, because it's the only explanation you're going to get. I have decided to play a little game, and you are the pieces. Don't bother with being offended, I'm simply stating a fact. And your wonderful city is the game board. Now, I won't be playing all by myself…no sport in that, so I've selected an opponent to match wits with me. You already know who you are, and your first turn is about to start. If you do not succeed in your task, all of Gotham will suffer for it. If you do not solve the puzzle in time, I will cut off the power supply to the entire city. You have until midnight. Have a nice day._

In another flash of light, the screens had all returned to their normal state of showing commercials and newscasts, but the people in and around the square seemed to have frozen.

Half an hour later, the news of this new threat was all over Gotham, including the sub-basement levels of Wayne Tower, where engineers Kevin Merrick and Connie Tate sat surrounded by sheets of diagrams, sketches and scribbled calculations. Both of them were equally frustrated by their lack of progress. They had both been down on the sub-levels since morning, because Kevin had started his day roaming the R&D offices for a helping hand, and Connie had agreed to lend him just that. Not that it had done them much good so far, they were stuck in a dead end. It seemed that whenever they came up with a solution to one problem, they created another, and there was no end in sight.

Kevin demonstratively stood up and walked to turn on a flat-screen TV mounted on one wall. Connie, who had just as demonstratively, began tinkering with another one of her small robots some minutes before, followed him with her gaze. She knew that he too needed something to distract him from the brick wall they seemed to be facing, and busied herself with her robot again. There was silence for a while, except for the sound of the TV and Connie's string of curses when a box of nuts and bolts tumbled down from the work table and spread all over the floor. Kevin turned at the commotion, and his chuckles at the sight of Connie scrambling under the work table for missing pieces were met by a telling hand gesture over the tabletop, which only caused him to chuckle harder.

But, as his eyes returned to the TV screen his chuckles subsided, and he called to Connie. When she didn't answer the first time, he called her name again, more insistent this time.

"Connie!"

A thud, closely followed by another curse and Connie Tate emerged from under the table, rubbing her head.

"What?!?"

"You need to see this."

Gingerly she got up and walked over to the monitor, and pulling a nearby chair closer she sat down just as the introductory theme of the newsreel faded out. A woman in her mid-thirties, with close cropped, black hair and wire rimmed glasses appeared on screen.

"_We have just received several reports regarding a supposed threat to all the inhabitants of Gotham City. Half an hour ago the screens around Gotham Square went dark, and the people there witnessed as an unknown voice broadcast over the PA system threatened to cut the city's power supply. This threat was underlined by the appearance of a riddle on all surrounding screens…more on this soon, as we hear from our on-site reporter Mike Engel…"_

Connie's first thought came from her lips before she could think.

"What the hell?!?"

Kevin Merrick turned to look at her, but it seemed that Connie had taken the words right out of his mouth, because he turned back to the TV without a word. Both sat in silence for a while, watching until they got tired of the endless beating around the bush. No one seemed to know anything tangible, and the reporters and news anchors were repeating themselves endlessly in an attempt to keep the attention of the viewers.

Kevin turned the volume down and shrugged.

"Probably the same idiot who screwed up the downtown traffic on Saturday...this guy really doesn't know when to stop. The whole police department is going to be after him now. Listen, I thought of something about the conversion process, it might let us keep the audio high-quality without sacrificing storage space… let's draw this thing up one more time?"

Connie nodded gratefully in agreement. It was refreshing to work with someone so effective when you spent a lot of time in meetings with the feeling of getting nothing done. That, and she didn't really want to offer a public opinion about this _Riddler_ character, because she had an ominous feeling that this might turn more serious than an unsubstantial threat, and a sneaking suspicion that she might get tangled up in more than she could handle.

Jim Gordon stood in the squad room of the Major Case Unit and contemplated the days of the week. There was Bloody Sunday, Blue Monday and Black Tuesday. So far he'd experienced his own version of all of those, and if things kept going in the same direction he could soon add a 'Catastrophic Wednesday' to his vocabulary. Forensics had turned up nothing tangible on the computers from Department of Transportation, and now they were attempting to determine the source of the Gotham Square threat. He had a brief update from the detective heading up that part of the investigation, and it didn't look good. So far it seemed that the threat was a part of some sort of virus, which was set to start working at a specific time and then self-destruct when its job was done. Forensically it was now a matter of trying to find, pick up, reassemble, and trace the pieces, and this Riddler type, whoever he was, was not making it easy for them.

The rest of the afternoon was without incident for Connie and Kevin, except for Kevin's head coming in close contact with a cardboard box placed out of reach, so when the day was over, both Kevin and Connie had something to show for it.

It had already been dark outside for hours when Connie made her way home from work, so dark that she did not notice the shadow that seemed to follow in the dark corners behind her all the way to her apartment building.

Connie flicked a light switch in her apartment, and entered a kitchen that now looked slightly more lived in than it had a few days ago. Unknowing of what would happen only minutes later, she threw her bag down on the floor, and went to make tea.

He watched as she moved around the kitchen, and noted that she possessed something of a whimsical elegance. He did not move, did not make a sound to make her aware of his presence. It was not until she turned and glanced into the living room, saw him and let out a scream of fear and surprise, that he stepped forward.

"You! What the hell are you doing in my apartment?!?"

Anger was not usually the first reaction he got when he appeared in front of someone wearing cape and cowl. In actual fact fear and cowardice came long before anger on the list of emotions his costume could be said to evoke. This woman proved to react in a way outside of the ordinary, something that could turn out to be an advantage or a problem for him. After all, he had broken into her home, so her anger might be considered justified.

"Relax, I'm not here to harm you."

"A six foot man dressed as a bat standing in my living room telling me to relax? Don't be offended if I choose not to take you up on that advice, I haven't been admitted to Arkham yet, you know…"

She remained where she was, but their eyes did not break contact for what must have been minutes. Finally, she asked;

"Ok…you're obviously not going to leave, and if growing up on 23rd Street taught me anything it was to pick my fights. I don't like the odds of a scrawny girl from Harlow against some guy who has proven he can take out an entire SWAT team… So, what do you want?"

"Your help."

"Go on…"

She leant forward, placing both elbows on the countertop between them, gathering her hands in front of her.

"You heard of the threat from Gotham Square?"

She nodded.

"This Riddler character said he was playing a game, and that he had selected an opposing player. I think it's the same guy who lured you to St. Catherines…and I think you are that player."

It seemed to take a moment or two for this new information to reach her completely, but when it did he saw the brief shock in her eyes.

"You think the threat is real?"

She straightened, and walked around the counter and down the steps into the living room. On equal ground the five inches or so that differed in height between them became much more pronounced, and she had to tilt her head slightly upwards to keep eye contact with him. He took one step towards her and noticed that he was not intimidating enough for her to step back as he did so.

"I think…that the Riddler likes to play games, and that he is willing to go to great lengths to prove his skills. His display in the church was only to lure you in, so you'd know, that when he brought his games to the attention of the public, that you were the one selected to play against him."

Again, for what felt like the tenth time in just as many minutes, Connie was at a loss for words. She had no idea how to respond to this, but it made a sick kind of sense, what he was saying. There could be something to this, and it would certainly help explain the feeling of unease that had nagged at her since that night in the church.

"Why me?"

The question sounded ridiculously melodramatic, and it escaped her lips before she had a chance to stop it. She felt stupid to have asked it, but it was difficult to see from the few features visible in his face whether he felt the same about her.

He reached into the folds of his cloak, and his hand emerged holding the notebook computer she recognized from the church. He placed it on the low table in front of the sofa, and opened it to show her a dark screen.

"Open it. Maybe we will find out…"

He watched as she cautiously stepped towards him, and, instead of seating herself on the sofa, crouched on the floor in front of the laptop screen, a hand tentatively reaching towards the keyboard and the fingerprint scanner next to it. Still hesitant she placed the index finger of her right hand on the sensor, and the screen sprang to life, displaying what looked like millions of individual pixels which materialized into four different images.

He recognized them as the same images he had been able to retrieve from the computer's hard drive.

"Does this mean anything to you?" The dark, rasping voice asked from behind her. Absentmindedly Connie shook her head, before turning to look up at him.

"No…well at least not together like this."

"But you do recognize the pictures?"

"I recognize two of them; the lake and the coral reef. The lake is Lake Victoria, and the reef is the Belize Barrier Reef…"

"How can you be sure?"

"Because I've been to both places…"

Suddenly a frightening thought caught up with her. What if he knew… He had proved himself to be a good hacker, so although it disturbed her, it wasn't far-fetched to think that he had managed to hack into some of Wayne Enterprises' personnel records and pulled her prints from there. But to go from that to knowing about her past holidays, that had to be harder, even for him, right?

"You think he picked them on purpose? You think he knew that I'd recognize them?"

The black figure looming behind her didn't answer, even when she turned to look at him. Connie shook her head in disbelief.

"This guy is starting to creep me out…"

Connie turned to face the screen again, but jumped as the sound of a distorted man's voice was emitted from the speakers.

_Hello, Constance. I knew you would follow the lead eventually. You were just too curious to resist it, weren't you? That's a compliment by the way…it's why I picked you in the first place. I knew you'd want to play. Your first task is to foil my plan to cut off all electricity in the city…if you can. I'm sure you've seen the news by now. You see, unbeknownst to the fools who look at their screens and think that everything is under control, I have their entire system in a deadlock. They will realize that as the clock ticks closer to midnight. And unbeknownst to you, until now, you are their only hope. I will give you everything you need to find the figurative key with which to unlock, well, everything… But it wouldn't be any fun if it was straightforward, would it? So, that's the game – solve my puzzles, crack my codes and unravel my riddles, and you might save the city from darkness. My wit against yours, and your wit the only thing standing between me and a Gotham without power. Good luck._

As the voice faded, a small black window popped up in the middle of the screen, aligning itself in the centre of the four images. It looked like it was made for typing in a password of some sort, but it left no clue as to what kind of password, except for it being five letters long.

"Okaay…now what?"

She felt a brush of fabric against her back as Batman crouched beside her, and turned to look at him, seeing nothing in his eyes but the light reflected from the computer screen.

"The answer has to be here somewhere… He told you he'd give you everything you needed – he wouldn't lie."

"How do you know? He seems capable of a lot of things, including lies…"

"He enjoys this; he enjoys playing games because as long as he is the one initiating the game he gets to make the rules. He is a very smart, very capable person and he wants us to know that. He wants us to fail, because that would confirm his supremacy of being."

"Is there a psychoanalyst hiding under that mask of yours?"

"No. But in order to fight my enemies, I must also know them."

She shrugged.

"Makes sense, as long as you can keep track of who your enemies are…"

"I can."

"So how did your enemy change from being the mafia to being the Gotham Police Department…?"

Their eyes met, but neither could read anything from the other's gaze. Gingerly, Connie rose, heading into the kitchen again.

"Where are you going?"

She turned to look at the black-clad figure still crouching on her living room floor. Even now, when she was standing upright and he wasn't, he looked formidable, like a panther about to strike at its prey.

"I'm going to finish making tea. You interrupted me, remember? I don't suppose you want any…?"

The final words turned into a question without her really knowing why. In immediate retrospect she decided it was an attempt at a common courtesy in a very un-common situation.

He simply looked at her, and she turned back shaking her head.

"Stupid question…" She concluded to herself.

* * *

**A/N II: **I just thought I'd mention that the geography of my Gotham City is turning into one big mix of comicverse and Nolanverse. Mainly I've used comicverse in naming places where I don't know of a Nolanverse parallel, because I needed some different locations from what we've seen in Nolanverse so far (including Gotham Square). If this becomes confusing to anyone, I'm sorry, and if anyone knows of a comprehensive map of Nolan's Gotham, where landmarks/buildings are named, please let me know.


	6. Inside the Box

**Disclaimer: **'Batman' is the property of DC Comics, Warner Brothers and any and all other who can lay claim to the copyright. No copyright infringement is intended in any way, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story. The only thing that belongs to me is the original characters that I've created for the purpose of this story.  
**Author's Note:** An update! And it's still December! It's probably a bit late to wish anyone reading this 'merry christmas', but I'll do it anyway: Merry Christmas (or whatever other holiday you happen to be celebrating)! Christmas also means that I'm on a break from Uni, which contributes a lot to the explanation of how this chapter got written faster than any of the others to date. For the past few days I've been writing like crazy, which resulted in the longest chapter so far. Also, with the addition of this chapter, Smoke is now my longest story, and the one that has gotten the most reviews, so, a huge thanks goes out to those who have reviewed. Keep the reviews coming, please! I love every single one of them! Finally, thanks to my friend Mia who also doubles as my beta-reader, weeding out the mistakes I miss. And I hope you enjoy!

* * *

A few minutes later Connie was sitting in her couch, a mug full of steaming hot peppermint tea in her hands. The laptop that had initiated this most unusual evening stood on the table in front of her, and the Batman still crouched on her living room floor.

"Five letters, and we supposedly have everything we need. Well, he sure gave us plenty of options…"

She got no response, and in a sudden burst of irritation she turned and asked:

"Do you ever say anything?!?"

He shrugged.

"At uneven intervals."

"How about saying something now? You're the detective here…don't tell me you couldn't crack this thing by yourself if you wanted to. I don't know who you are, but from what I've seen you must have access to technology most wouldn't even dream of…that's assuming you're all human under there."

Again, no answer.

"OK, so what does Lake Victoria, the Belize Barrier Reef, a bridge and a nightclub have in common?"

"The nightclub is called DEEP, and that's the Rialto Bridge." The gruff voice beside her said.

"Is that significant?"

"It could be."

Connie sipped her tea and looked at the screen again.

"It may well be doubted whether human ingenuity can construct an enigma…which human ingenuity may not, by proper application, resolve." Connie said quietly, mostly to reassure herself that there had to be a crack in the brick wall they seemed to be facing.

"What?"

She shrugged.

"Something my dad used to say when he was stuck. I think it's originally an Edgar Allan Poe quote. He was very adamant in teaching me that there is always an answer, and usually it's right in front of your face, even if it takes you a while to see it."

Just as she spoke the words an idea crossed her mind. Could it really be that simple?

"That's it! It's there, the one thing these pictures all have in common…water."

She turned, and their eyes met. In the light of the computer screen she could make out the same mixture of eagerness and caution in his eyes that she felt sure he saw in hers. It was extremely simple, yet logical in a way. Still a part of her mind said that either it was wrong, or it was only the beginning. Riddler would not threaten an entire city over a simple guessing game, that she was fairly sure of. Batman had a point, it seemed like this guy liked showing off his supposed genius. To create an elaborate game seemed entirely in character, but to let it rest on trial and error? And speaking of errors, how many tries was he going to give them in figuring this out?

"Try it." Commanded the ghostly voice from beside her. Obeying, she brought a hand towards the keyboard, but froze before she could press down any keys.

"What if it's wrong? How many tries do you think he's planning on giving us?"

"If it's wrong we'll probably lose this round. The same is true if we don't hurry up… I don't think it starts and ends with this. Do it."

Her hand trembled ever so slightly as her fingers found the appropriate keys, because she knew that what she was about to do would have consequences for others too, not just herself. And if it turned out to be consequences of the destructive kind that would be a hard blow to any self esteem she had. But then again, he hadn't objected. So maybe they had both reached the same conclusion, and so far he seemed to have a much better grasp of this Riddler character than she had. So maybe she could trust his judgment…

Her index finger pressed down the 'W' key, and a small star appeared in the password field to signify the letter. A-T-E-R soon followed, and she finished off with a quick stroke on the 'Enter' key.

The field disappeared, but nothing happened.

Not at first.

But slowly the pictures morphed into a world map, then a map of the United States. Then a sequence of numbers, signs and finally a letter appeared.

"Coordinates!" Both of them exclaimed simultaneously. Each briefly looked at the other, and had it not been for the fact that both were now far too eager to care, there would probably have been a slight embarrassment in those looks.

Again, she felt the brush of fabric against her arm as Batman rose from beside her. She turned to look at him, and found him standing over her with a small screen in his hand. She couldn't see the specifics, but it looked like a PDA of some sort, though nothing like what was in the market now. Could very well be a custom job, Connie thought. It would certainly fit with the rest of his equipment. She had to admit, to herself at least, that she was impressed, and wondered how on earth he had gotten a skilled tool maker on his side. He was hardly inconspicuous, and not at all to be trusted if she was to believe what it said in the news. The thing was that a part of her was ready to disbelieve the news. This man…if she could call him that, she wasn't even sure if there _was_a man under the mask and all the armor, he did not seem like he was out to hurt her. If anything, he seemed protective of her, although she did not know why. He could be playing her, like the Riddler. They could be in it together for all she knew. The most frustrating of all in this was that the only sure conclusion she could come to was that if there was one true enigma here, it was the Batman himself.

Without another word he began to walk away from her. At the sight of this she raised an eyebrow at no one in particular, and after concluding to herself that he was not going to stop and reveal anything to her, followed him. He walked out of the living room and through a hallway leading further into the apartment without a word, although a slight hesitation on his part told Connie that he had picked up on the sound of her footsteps. He did not stop until he stood in front of her bedroom window, which, to Connie's surprise, was open. Only then did he turn around to face her.

"I'm going alone. The Riddler is adept at what he's doing, he is resourceful and he is _not_ harmless. I cannot guarantee your safety."

Connie shrugged.

"I'm not asking you to."

"You don't have to ask. I cannot take responsibility for you."

She cocked her head to one side and studied him.

"You didn't hear me the first time, did you? I'm not asking for your protection. I'm very aware that this is turning serious, but I'm a part of this now, whatever it is. I can't quit now and pretend none of this ever happened."

He fixed her with a pair of dark eyes with such a sudden intensity that she felt her body freeze.

"I am going alone."

He turned swiftly on his heel and stepped easily onto the window frame, and from there he leapt gracefully into the night and disappeared.

The moment he disappeared from her sight she made up her mind. His protection or not, she could not give up now. She realized that this could turn ugly, and that was of course not a pleasant thought, but she could not let go. She needed an answer, or a solution of some sort to give her peace of mind. Even if took following the Batman to wherever he was going. Even if she had to dive into the Riddler's game body and soul.

After closing the window she headed out of the bedroom and down the hall for a few steps until she came to another door. She opened it and entered her home office, a space that was versatile, if nothing else. It contained everything from the normal computers and documents to souvenirs from trips to different places, including a compound bow and arrows and diving equipment. Most of it was still stored in cardboard boxes, but her desk, her computer and a few shelves were up.

For once she knew exactly what she was looking for and hurriedly rummaged through one of the drawers in her desk, finding a device that looked similar to the one Batman had used minutes before. She ran back to the living room, hoping that the coordinates had not mysteriously disappeared from the screen. Somewhat to her relief, they had not, and she swiftly activated the GPS unit in the PDA and punched in the numbers.

She sat down on the edge of the sofa while the GPS worked on finding the matching coordinates on the map. When she checked the PDA again a few seconds later, she had to look twice to make sure she had seen correctly.

_The Gotham Aquarium? This is getting better and better_, she thought. It seemed random to her, but then again it seemed that this whole thing had a touch of randomness about it at first glance.

"The Aquarium it is, then." She said to herself. She had a hunch that going to the aquarium would mean getting wet. Something told her that the Riddler wouldn't bother sending them to the Aquarium if he was going to place the next clue on dry land. And if that was the case, she needed to take some precautions. She was hardly going to rival the Batman when it came to equipment, but it couldn't hurt to put on some lighter clothes and bring a diving knife…just in case.

"Commissoner!"

Gordon spun around at the call, and saw one of the crime scene techs wave him over. He was still at the MCU, just like he had been since half an hour after the threat came in. It had been futile hours spent waiting in the hope that some of the techs could dig up something, _anything_ that could bring them closer to the one who was going this.

"I discovered something," the tech, a man by the name of John Adams, formerly with the FBI, said as Gordon crossed the room. As Gordon leant in to get a better look at the computer screen, the tech continued.

"I found this hidden in the encoding of the program used to hijack the screens of Gotham Square."

He pressed a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him, and a screen full of what looked to Gordon to be a massive amount of random letters and numbers popped up. Gordon exchanged looks with Adams and raised an eyebrow in question. This was not his domain, and he was fully aware of it. He liked the real world better, even the real world that was Gotham. At least something real could be done in an attempt to stop criminals in the real world. Not like now, with this ghost of a cyber criminal, when all he could do was sit around and wait.

"It's a message," Adams said in response to his superiors questioning look.

"Watch this."

Gordon watched, and as Adams wrote furiously on his keyboard, scores of letters and numbers faded away, leaving only a few. More keystrokes from Adams revealed the words;

_Catch me if you can_

The words were followed by a series of numbers.

Adams turned his head and looked at Gordon.

"I checked the numbers, and as far as I can tell, they're coordinates. They correspond perfectly to the location of the Gotham Aquarium."

Commissioner James Gordon smiled. Maybe this Riddler wasn't as smart as he thought after all? One could definitely hope, and even if it was a part of the plan, that he had planned on them finding his little message, Gordon could not dismiss it outright. This was the only tangible lead they had, and maybe, just maybe, this guy wanted to be caught.

The Gotham Aquarium was a huge, modern construction of glass and concrete, built a few years before as part of a multi-million dollar extension of the Gotham University of Science and Technology, of course partly founded by the Wayne Foundation. As she stood in front of the towering entrance, Connie had to admit she found it impressive. But rather than admire the architecture, she had to find a solution to a much more pressing matter – how to get in, now that it was long past opening hours. After standing for a while considering her options, she decided to walk around the building to see if there was another, less obvious entrance where it was easier to sneak in. Luckily for her, the Gotham Aquarium was not the best guarded building, and as the resourceful head of Wayne Enterprises' R&D department she didn't find it too difficult to pick the lock of a door that said 'employees only'.

Her steps echoed as she walked into the main exhibition hall, after finding her way through an empty cafeteria and shop. Without really meaning to, she stopped, in awe of the sheer size of the room she had just entered. She guessed that there had to be at least fifty feet from floor to ceiling, and everything was bathed in the same ghostly, blue light, coming from the aquariums themselves. Although she was determined not to be scared, there was something about this place that felt deeply unsettling to her, in a strange way it felt like she was being watched.

With hesitant steps she began walking again, not really knowing where to go or what to look for. Incidentally, the 'what' and the 'where' both appeared right in front of her eyes within minutes.

In front of her, to her left was an aquarium that covered an entire wall. Its contents looked Caribbean; she could see what looked like part of a coral reef, a turtle, a ray, and a small shark, all of which looked like they belonged there. But there was something else, something that did not look the least bit oceanic. A box, black in color and about twelve by twelve inches in size. On the front of the box, directly in view, was a bright green question mark.

Connie was astonished. Riddler had actually placed the key, or the clue or whatever it was, on the bottom of a massive aquarium tank. Who was this guy, and how on earth did he pull these stunts off?!?

Even if it seemed more than a little crazy, Connie knew she had to follow. She couldn't turn around, go home, pretend the game did not exist, and watch as the Riddler upped his threats. This meant that she had to find a way to get into that tank…

Just as she was about to turn around and try to find a way into the tank, she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. Slowly she shifted her eyes to see that it was covered entirely by a black glove. And then she heard the harsh, rasping voice again, and this time the distinct feeling of anger seeped through his words.

"I told you to stay out of this."

"As far as I'm concerned you forfeited the right to give me orders when you brought me _into_ this. You said it, he chose me. I have no idea why, but it was my fingerprint that opened that laptop. You are in this by chance, or at least by choice… Look, we can turn this into a competition, or we can work together to figure this guy out. A third option involves us getting into a fight right here, right now, but if you don't mind me saying, I don't like that option much…I'd prefer to stay alive for a few years more at least."

He listened and noted that her voice was calm, but determined, her reasoning logical based on what she knew, and he realized that if he were to make her leave it would make no difference. She would not give up now, unless physically forced to, and he did not want to harm her. Resourceful, smart and determined made for a good combination in a business woman…and a detective.

"Concentrate on getting through tonight before you start to worry about the next few years. We have to hurry; the police have been called here. I would rather they didn't find me here…or you, for that matter."

She nodded once to show that she understood, and then said;

"I know what we're here for; I just don't know how we're going to get to it."

She nodded in the direction of the aquarium in front of them, and from the silence behind her she guessed that he saw what she had seen moments before. As for what he was thinking, she could not guess.

"Come on."

His hand moved from her shoulder to her arm, and his grip tightened to pull her away. She turned, and followed him away from the tank, across the room. From there they half walked, half ran down a hallway and through another door marked 'employees only'. The sound of metal echoed as they made their way up a narrow staircase that lead to another level consisting of several walkways running parallel with the tanks. They made their way between the tanks until they found the one containing the mystery box. A small platform, probably used by the divers to feed the animals, protruded from the walkway on one side of tank, and they both stepped onto it and crouched to see down into the water.

"What does it look like to you, fifteen feet or something?"

"Eighteen."

"Alright. I can handle eighteen."

He turned his head and looked at her, and again his eyes seemed to pierce her.

"You're not going down there."

Now it was her turn to look at him and raise an eyebrow in visible disbelief.

"And you are?"

He nodded once as he saw her gaze move along his entire body like she was measuring him for something.

"How much does that thing weigh, exactly?"

When he did not answer, she asked the question again, clarifying.

"Your suit, how much does it weigh?"

"Why do you care?"

"That thing looks like forty-fifty pounds easy…you're going to sink like a rock. Which means that; a) I'm going to have a hell of a lot of trouble dragging you out of there, and b) I'm going to have to think of a way to outsmart Gotham's finest. Now, judging by the kind of publicity they've been getting, I could probably get away with that last one…but dragging a 250 pound guy out of a gigantic aquarium tank…no way."

When the only response she got was another one of those piercing looks that told her she was dangerously close to being ripped to shreds, she shrugged.

"Ok, you've officially been declared devoid of any sense of humor. For your information though, I'm not blind, I can see that you don't want my help. And that's fine with me; I can walk out of here right now. I don't want to, but I can. But if I do that, and you break into my home again because you need my fingerprint, or my retina, or my DNA, or whatever, you're not going to get it. Because unless you can accept that I'm in this all the way, I'd rather poke my eyes out than help you…"

She stood up and turned around to leave the same way she came in when, in a split second, he jumped up after her, got a hold of her arm and spun her into a vice grip so she could not move.

"Look at me." The growling voice commanded. Connie realized when she heard the threat that seemed to lie beneath his words, that this was the first time she felt truly afraid of this man…this _creature._ When she could not bring herself to obey, he repeated the command more intensely.

"Look at me!"

He forced her head slightly backwards, so that she had no choice but to look into his eyes.

"You have no idea what you might be getting yourself involved in. You don't know what kind of people live their lives in secret, in darkness. This endeavor can get you killed, Constance, and you don't even know it. This game can turn deadly in one move, and you play willingly, without knowing the risk. I told you, I cannot guarantee your safety."

When he spoke the last sentence, his voice softened ever so slightly, and he loosened his grip on her wrists. Relieved, Connie dared to breathe again.

"And I told _you _that I wasn't asking you to. I have no idea who you are…I have no idea where you come from, or how you ended up here, but I'm telling you that you underestimate me. I realize that this is dangerous. But I can just as easily get shot walking home from work, and if you think that I am unaware of that fact, then… Look, I can take care of myself. And I know one more thing; if this puzzle isn't solved in time, more people than me will likely die as a side effect. The fear of the darkness I can cope with, but not the certainty that people will die if I can't finish what I started."

Her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt on the inside, but her argument must have made some kind of sense to him as well, because after a long moment of staring straight into her eyes, he let her go. Unexpectedly he placed his hands on her shoulders, and said;

"The police will be here in three minutes. I can distract them, but you are on your own. Get the box, then get out as fast as you possibly can. Do you know where the old Clock Tower is?"

She nodded.

"Sure, on the outskirts of the City Hall District…"

With one hand he reached into his cloak, pulled out a small, golden key on a chain and held it out to her.

"You'll be safe inside. Wait for me there. Do you understand?"

She nodded, and was surprised when he proceeded to help her take off her coat. When he saw the diving knife that hung from her belt she could have sworn she saw his lips curled into a smile, but it was gone so fast that she could not be sure if it was real or if she had imagined it.

He brushed past her, and she turned to watch him leave. After taking a few steps he turned back to her.

"As fast as you possibly can."

She nodded, turned away and listened as his soft steps disappeared. After swiftly removing her shoes she leant over the railing and looked once more down into the water before climbing over. For a moment she balanced on the outside of the railing, before taking a deep, steadying breath and letting herself fall into the water.

The water was warm, and since it was seawater she could see pretty clearly even without a diving mask. And had it not been for the fact that speed was essential, she might have enjoyed the diving more. It was a couple of years since an ex-boyfriend had treated her to a free diving course in waters similar in looks to those she now swam through, but she found that she remembered the technique quite well.

She reached the box easily, and found that it was smaller than she had anticipated as well as made of a rubbery material instead of metal. It was not attached to the rock it stood on in any way, and for a brief moment it seemed to Connie that this was all too easy. She did not dwell on the thought however and quickly grabbed the box to start the ascent back to the surface.

But before she could start to swim two things happened almost at once. A thud made her turn her head, and she saw that an armored police officer had been thrown head first into the thick glass of the tank. She could not see who had thrown him with such force, but she could make a very educated guess. The thud was followed closely by another sound, this one not so muffled as the first. It sounded like the release of a tightened spring, and when Connie spun to see if she could make out what it was, she saw three long knives propel through the water, towards her.

At that moment it seemed her consciousness disconnected from the rest of her, because her body moved without her really knowing it, and in some way she managed to twist to avoid the full impact of the knives, and only one of them grazed her abdomen. She felt the pain and saw the blood, but instinct told her that this was not in any way life threatening and to get the hell out before more knives came flying. She kicked off from the rock and emerged moments later, gasping for breath.

Relieved, she realized that she was still clutching the black box that had gotten her into the water in the first place, and she threw it onto the platform before grabbing the railing and pulling herself onto dry land again.

The police had showed faster than he had expected, probably because they were hoping to find the Riddler, and not the Batman. But, judging from the eagerness with which they pursued him, they would settle for getting their hands on one of the two criminals. He used the darkness to his advantage, and managed to take out three officers before the remaining came to realize that they were not alone.

After that, things got more complicated. He estimated that there were approximately two dozen police officers in the aquarium, and he had to keep all of them from seeing Connie Tate, while he prayed that she would find a way out without getting caught or killed. He wondered if he had made yet another mistake by involving her in this. He saw one member of the SWAT team get her in his sight and quickly jumped from the shadows, grabbed the barrel of the rifle and pulled it out of his grasp, before whirling it in a sideswiping motion and striking the SWAT with such force that it sent him flying backwards into the aquarium tank.

He was about to see if Connie was doing alright when a shot fired from across the room jerked him backwards, and his mind was violently brought back to focus on the task of getting himself out of there alive. A year ago, everything would have been different. Then, the police might have given him a head start, or at least a chance to slip away unnoticed. Now, he was near, if not on the top of their list of enemies, and no officer in Gotham, regardless of how they felt about him before, would hesitate to open fire on him now. As far as they were concerned, he was responsible for the death of some of their own, and that was not something readily forgiven by the men and women wearing the GCPD uniform.

After climbing out of the water, Connie took a cursory look down her own body to make sure that her first discovery had been right, and she had, in fact, escaped the knives with nothing but a scratch. Well, on closer inspection Connie saw that it was more like a gash, but it wasn't deep or life threatening, so she hurried to slip her shoes on again and concentrated on finding a way out. Taking the same way she came in was out of the question, since that would mean crossing a room that was now filled with armed police officers. But there was bound to be more than two points of entry in a building like this, which meant there were also more than two points of exit. All she had to do was find one.

Getting out proved to be about as easy as getting in, seeing as the police were entirely focused on the Batman. Connie sent him a grateful thought as she ran through a park on the Gotham University campus, hoping that he hadn't taken on too much and that he would escape without injury. She knew he was extremely capable, but still…capability did not make him immortal.

Gotham on a wintery night was dark, damp, cold and not to mention dangerous. Batman's crusade had been effective and had no doubt jumpstarted the clean-up of the city, and for a while it seemed that there was hope for Gotham. But after the untimely death of the city's newly elected District Attorney, the hope had all but vanished, and the police, with the newly instated Commissioner at the helm, fought to keep the smallest spark of it alive.

Running through the darkened streets, Connie saw the people who were long past all hope, and it was the sight of them that kept her running. She didn't like to admit it, but at this time of night they scared her. Those with nothing to lose were capable of anything; she had felt that a long time ago.

The Clock Tower was part of Old Gotham, and had originally been erected roughly two centuries before, as a monument dedicated to the work of some ancestor of Bruce Wayne. As far as she knew the clock itself had been disused for decades, and therefore she was surprised when the key turned in the lock without any trouble, and the door swung silently open to admit her.

The darkness inside was not much different from the darkness outside, but after a few moments spent catching her breath she could make out the vague outline of a staircase moving upwards. Carefully she began to walk, stopping to listen every time the woodwork creaked. Despite his assurance that she would be safe, she could not help but feel fear of the absolute darkness that surrounded her, adrenaline still coursing through her veins like fire.

It was not until she carefully opened another door several stories above and found a dimly lit room that the first surge of adrenaline began to let go of her body. The ability to once again see her surroundings calmed her somewhat, and she began to study them in more detail. She was as high up in the tower as one could come by using the stairs, and above her she could see the clock itself. Around her she noticed a box of rusty, old tools, probably used to keep the clock in repair when it was still in use, a sturdy wooden table and two accompanying chairs, and on the far wall a shelf filled with drawers of varying sizes. It almost looked like someone was still using the place for an occasional hideout, because the shelf, table and chairs were not as dusty as the abandoned tools.

She realized that her right hand was still clutching the mysterious, black box, and set it carefully down on the table. As she was about to settle down in one of the chairs to see what was in it, a fluttering sound from behind her made her aware that she was no longer alone. She turned, and saw him.

"You work fast."

He nodded towards the box on the table and again she thought she could see traces of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"So do you. You did well."

She didn't really know what to say to that, but muttered a 'thank you'.

"You're injured." He remarked, astonished. Stepping closer, he reached out and traced one hand over the gash in her abdomen.

"How did it happen?" Oddly enough, Connie thought he sounded worried.

She shrugged.

"It's just a scratch."

"That's not what I asked."

She sighed, and said;

"The tank was rigged. I have no idea how he did it, or what I did to trigger it, or if it was timed, but the tank was rigged. When I had picked up the box and was about to swim to the surface, some kind of mechanism propelled three knives across the tank. I almost managed to miss all of them," she finished with a small smile.

"Sit."

Again his wording was that of a command, but this time there was a softness in his voice that was not there before. He turned and walked briskly to the shelf, pulling out a drawer and retrieving something she could not see until he returned. It turned out to be iodine, gauze and tape.

"What are you doing? It's just a scratch, I'm telling you. Besides, we don't have time for this! We have to open that box!"

"We'll _make_ time. Now sit down."

She realized that there was no point in arguing with him, and sat down with a sigh. He proceeded to rip a larger hole in her sweater where the knife had pierced it, and applied a generous amount of iodine to the wound. It stung, and she grabbed a hold of the chair to keep herself from cursing. He put the bottle of iodine away and ripped a strip of gauze from the roll, folding it to cover the wound. Then he gently took her hand and placed it on the gauze, holding it in place.

"Hold that."

A few strips of white cotton tape finished off the improvised first aid, and he stood up, a move which made him tower over her. Without hesitation he took the box from the table and opened it. She was surprised by this sudden swiftness of action from him, especially after having spent over an hour staring at a computer screen trying to figure out a password, and was about to say something when he held a hand out to her so she could see what was inside the box.

"We risked our necks for that?!?"

Connie stared in amazement at what lay in his hand. A black memory stick covered in bright green question marks, about as long as her little finger, and only a little broader. When she looked at it, laying there in the palm of his hand, she thought it looked nothing short of ridiculous. Or rather, the thought that she very nearly got stabbed because of it was ridiculous.

"We did." He conceded, and his voice was again devoid of emotion.

"But I don't think it's as insignificant as it looks. It can very well contain the key to unlocking and getting back control of the power grid. I'm taking it to the police."

"The police? The same police who wants you dead…are you crazy?!? You're forgetting, you don't have any friends on the police force anymore!"

She stood up, reached out a hand to stop him, but he stepped away from her.

"I have one." He said simply.

Both stood silent for a long while. She desperately wanted to say something that would make him reconsider, or at least bring her into the fold on whatever it was that he had in mind, but she couldn't think of any irrefutable arguments. He too seemed thoughtful, and after a few moments he stepped towards her again, and his voice softened when he spoke.

"You've done well, Constance. But you have to let me see this through alone. I cannot guarantee your safety, and although you don't seem to care, I still can't let you take this risk…"

"Oh, give me a break, you had no problem with me taking the risk of diving into that tank! You have no right to tell me what to do, you self-righteous bastard!"

"I need you alive! You don't understand, do you? If Riddler manages to kill you before we figure out who he is or what he wants, then it's game over! I can't let that happen…"

He could see that she wanted to argue back, but turned and walked away before she had the chance. Connie had an urge to run after him, but at the same time couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead she stood where he had left her, cursing intently when she heard the fluttering sound of his cape catching the wind.

The AXIS Corporation, which was responsible for supplying power to Gotham and the surrounding area, was located adjacent to the Wayne Tower, and the primary hub responsible for remote controlling the city's power supply was located on a sub-level that could be accessed both from the AX-Corp building and Wayne Tower. On this particular level there were now five times as many people as usual, and none of them could do anything about the fact that someone else was now controlling the power grid. Outside the AX-Corp building stood the one man who could possibly top the frustration level of all the people currently down on the sub-level. Commissioner Jim Gordon was pacing up and down the sidewalk, trying to think of something they had not tried. He wasn't succeeding, and that only contributed to his frustration. He was old school, he knew that, but he felt useless unless he could actually _do_ something.

He was about to turn around and go back inside when that sudden, familiar feeling of being watched struck him. He spun around and saw a just as familiar outline against the darkness of the stone wall behind him.

"I have something for you." The figure said.

"I hope it's the solution to that enigma down in the central hub," replied Gordon bitterly.

The figure gave a shrug, barely noticeable.

"It might be."

Batman stepped forward, and held the memory stick out to Gordon. Gordon took it and turned it over in his hand, still skeptical.

"I believe that's the key. But if it's not, I want to know everything that's on it."

"I thought you usually checked everything _before_ handing it over to us?"

"No time."

Batman looked up, and Gordon followed his gaze to a digital clock on a nearby building now showing 23:45 pm. Fifteen minutes left to zero. Gordon nodded in understanding.

"I'll do what I can, as always. But even if this saves us now, I'm going to have to call in the feds. It's going to look strange otherwise…"

"Do what you have to do."

"My guys say they almost got you down at the Aquarium…So this Riddler character…are you playing him? In that game he talked about in the Square?"

"Yes…and no. I'm not the player he talked about, but I plan to play his game."

Gordon was about to ask him to elaborate, but when he blinked Batman was gone. Jim Gordon did not waste time, but hurried back down to the sub-level where he immediately called for Detective Adams and handed him the memory stick.

"I want to know everything that's on this, and I want to know it now."

Detective Adams was a tech, which usually caused him to be looked down on by the 'real' detectives of the GCPD, but that did not mean he wasn't quick to react. He ran over to the nearest computer and virtually threw the person now working on it away. Eagerly he stuffed the memory stick into the appropriate port and waited.

Gordon couldn't see any changes on the many screens in the room, but he knew from John Adams' triumphant yell that at last something had gone right.

"It's working! We're back online!"

Suddenly, the room was once again bustling with activity. There was a whole host of systems to check, and double check, to make sure everything was functioning as before, but from what they could tell everything seemed to be back to normal.

Twenty minutes or so later, John Adams made his way to Commissioner Gordon and silently asked;

"How'd you get your hands on the unlocker, Commissioner?"

Gordon shrugged.

"The Great Detective gave it to me."

Adams raised both his eyebrows in skeptic question, but Gordon merely smiled, gave him a pat on the shoulder and made his way past him. Before leaving the room he turned back, and said;

"Good work, detective."

Batman was perched on the rooftop of Wayne Tower when the City Hall clock struck midnight. He did not move, and the only sign he was even alive was the white mist from his breath that clung to his mouth and nostrils. His eyes scanned the skyline, and rested here and there on a familiar building. He sat perched like that, watching and listening, until the clock in City Hall struck one, before he rose and leapt effortlessly into the darkness.


	7. Crossing A Line

**Disclaimer: **Batman belongs to DC Comics, Warner Brothers and any and all others who can lay claim to the copyright. No profit is being made from the publication of this story and no copyright infringement is in any way intended. The original character of Connie Tate, along with many of her friends, family and coworkers are of my creation and hence they belong to me.  
**Author's Notes: **I know it's been a while since I updated, but I needed a time-out to figure out where the story was going. I thought I knew from the start, but quite often my characters develop differently from what I'd planned, and do things differently from how I planned them, so then I find myself having to change my plans. Anyway, I know this chapter isn't as long as the previous one, but that's just the way it turned out. So enjoy, and please leave a review. They are my prime motivation to keep this story going.

* * *

When Connie finally locked her apartment door behind her, she was surprised that all her limbs weren't frozen solid. She might have kept the city from losing power, but she would never again venture outside on a winter night after taking a swim in the Gotham Aquarium if she could help it. Still shivering, she headed straight for the bathroom where she unceremoniously stripped off her wet clothes and filled her bathtub with water so warm the whole room was filled with steam in a minute. Only after she had spent so much time in the warm water that she had stopped shivering did she stop to think about all that had happened.

She thought about the Riddler, what kind of motivations he could have, and how he orchestrated his game. As for the first, she could only agree with the Batman, and as for the second…well, if he could hack into and take control of the Gotham power grid, he could probably also hack into some lucrative money transfers. And in Gotham there were no shortage of people willing to do pretty much anything if the money was good enough.

Batman – now there was a mystery. Even after the events of the past few days, she didn't know what to make of him. He was human, wholly human, that much she was sure of. There were emotions in his eyes, sometimes powerful ones, but they were so fleeting you could miss them completely if you blinked. So, he had restraint and self-control to rival the power of his feelings, an admirable trait for a vigilante. She began to doubt whether 'vigilante' was the right term to use when describing him, but she couldn't think of anything more fitting. 'Hero' seemed a little overboard, and 'enemy of the city' seemed a little harsh, so she decided to stick with the label 'vigilante' for the time being.

Lastly, she thought about herself, and her role in the events that had invaded her life lately. Of course she was scared, the knives had made sure of that, but there were something oddly alluring about balancing between safety and danger. Nothing that could make her don cape and cowl to seek it out like Batman seemed to do, but there was a sense of mastery and achievement about it that she liked. But there was also an intense sense of insecurity involved. The Riddler had now showed that he was not averse to taking a life. It was sheer luck that she had managed to avoid three knives with only a shallow wound to show for it, and she was very aware of it. But still…she had succeeded, hadn't she? Gotham City still had power, and that might not have been the case if she hadn't dove into that tank.

* * *

"I wish you would stop defending her, Alfred. She could have gotten herself killed for being so stubborn! It was a stroke of luck that those knives missed her and… What are you smiling about?"

Bruce spun around, locking eyes with his butler who stood as if to attention behind him with a smile tugging all too obviously at the corners of his mouth. As Bruce faced him, he tried to put on a serious expression, but failed.

"Nothing, Master Bruce, nothing at all."

Bruce raised an eyebrow at his valet. He had known Alfred his entire life, and knew that when Alfred said 'nothing' in the tone he used now, that meant the exact opposite. And sure enough, after a brief pause Alfred continued;

"… But if I recall correctly, you used almost those exact words to describe the actions of Miss Dawes when she volunteered to help with the preparations for the Maroni case."

"Exactly, and look what happened to her!"

For a brief moment Alfred saw in the eyes of his master the same look he had seen the night Rachel Dawes was killed, that of infinite despair and sorrow. He knew better than anyone the question that still kept Bruce Wayne awake some nights, the same that drove the Batman to the very edge of the abyss between sanity and darkness.

_Did I bring this on her?_

To the thousands of eyes watching him, however, Bruce Wayne kept up the appearance of the careless billionaire playboy. A few days after the Joker's capture, Bruce Wayne had once again laid claim to the front page of a couple of the local, entertainment-centered, glossy magazines. Very few of the socialites of Gotham knew that he had lost one of his childhood friends mere days before, even fewer cared. Alfred Pennyworth cared deeply, but he also saw the brief flickers of emotion that this new woman, a Miss Constance Tate, had brought to the eyes of his master, and dared to hope that something good might come of this affair. To Bruce, he said;

"Then may I suggest you keep an eye on Miss Tate, sir?"

"How am I supposed to do that, Alfred? She probably thinks I'm an idiot, or close to it anyway. I wanted her to think that! I didn't think I'd have to keep an eye out for her…"

"If I may be so bold, sir…There is one more who resides in this house, besides you and I. One whom Miss Tate has already met on a couple of different occasion, and surely expects to meet again. Maybe he could help…"

Bruce sighed.

"Batman is an outlaw, Alfred. There are limits to where he can go and what he can do. The Riddler knows that, and you can bet he's going to take advantage of it. I leveled the playing field to her advantage, and that wasn't part of his plan. And now he's probably going to take it out on her, make the game harder than it already is…"

"Batman was always an outlaw, Master Wayne. The scars you've become so adept at concealing are proof of that. It's true he does have limits, but limits are much the same as rules…if needed, they can be bent, or broken."

* * *

Two days later a woman in her mid- to late thirties walked briskly up the steps to Gotham City Hall. Wasting no time she quickly, after submitting to the standard security check, followed the signs that led to the front hall of the Police Commissioners Office. Greeting the secretary with a friendly nod, she said;

"Hi. My name is Alice Travers, I'm with the Computer Crimes Task Force."

She briefly showed the woman behind the desk a federal ID badge to identify herself, and continued.

"I'm here for the Commissioner, I was told he would be expecting me?"

The secretary nodded, and gave her a polite smile.

"Of course. Just give me a minute to tell him you're here."

Minutes later, Gordon himself opened the door to his office and gestured for the new arrival to enter. Once she was inside he closed the door behind him and extended a hand to introduce himself.

"Jim Gordon," he said simply, leaving out any other affiliation or title.

"Alice Travers," she replied, with the same honest simplicity. She offered him a brief smile, before continuing more seriously;

"I understand you've come into contact with The Riddler."

Gordon nodded solemnly, and began to walk over to his desk while gesturing for her to do the same. As they sat down, him on his usual place behind the desk facing the windows and her in a comfortable chair facing him on the opposite side, she began pulling folders out of a black, leather bound document case. She then flipped them open and laid them out on the desk in front of Gordon.

"As you can see we know him. Or rather, we know _of_ him. His real name is Edward Nashton. I don't know when his fingers first touched a keyboard, but since he was about thirteen he's been making trouble for us… We caught him once, when he was fifteen. That was before my time with the agency, and I don't recall all the details, but he posted some copyrighted code on a forum online, and because the producers of the code were quick to alert us we were able to trace the IP address he was using. Imagine the surprise when we storm a house in a suburb to find a fifteen year old kid who's hyped on caffeine and adrenaline. Not exactly one of our great moments…"

She paused for a moment, giving him the opportunity to quickly browse through the files in front of him.

"There wasn't much we could do, he was underage, but very aware that nothing of what he did then would end up on his permanent record. Parents were largely absent, so child services got involved but…"

She paused again, this time followed by a gesture suggesting the absence of any results. Gordon nodded in understanding.

"Nothing since?"

"Loads, but nothing we can prove. As the internet grew, so did his skills…and his nerve. Now he treats the entire web as if it were his personal playground."

"It would seem he's planning to extend this playground of his," Gordon remarked dryly, before continuing.

"He's using this city as an extension of some sort. Some bizarre place where he can turn his internet fantasies into reality. He's playing some sort of game with us, but apparently there's only one in this city who's playing for us. He already threatened to cut off all our power, and he damn near succeeded. I don't want to guess what he's going to pull next."

The federal agent nodded in understanding and agreement.

"It would definitely seem like he's escalating," she conceded.

Gordon sighed.

"Great. Another psycho…the last thing we needed now."

"I doubt you're looking at another Joker case. Edward Nashton is potentially dangerous, yes, but he is nothing like the Joker…"

"You heard about the case?"

She shrugged.

"Sure…how could I not? It was all over the news for months. The Bureau has made several attempts to profile him since he was captured. The only result so far is that three trained profilers have felt the need to seek therapy…"

"Speaking of…we had one of our people create a profile on Edward Nashton a couple of years back."

She bent to retrieve another folder from her case, opened it and laid that too on the table in front of Gordon.

"Of course, this is all based on a couple of interrogations conducted around the time he got caught, the rest is qualified guesswork based on the M.O of several other cases we believe to be his work. As far we can tell, Edward Nashton is an extremely gifted individual who became the victim of a flawed upbringing. He showed a significant amount of potential already before he started school, but his parents never acted on it. His father owned a lucrative business, but it kept him far too busy to pay attention to his own son. His mother has been admitted into various rehabilitation programs over the years…none of them took. Workaholic father, addict mother, it all makes for a very frustrated young man. School was probably his outlet for a while, but although he had mental capacities exceeding all of his classmates, he lacked similar social skills. He became the outcast, and probably soon detested any social contact that couldn't be avoided..."

She paused, and Gordon could detect a feeling of disdain as she spoke about Edward Nashton's family situation. Perhaps it was because she had family of her own, and wouldn't dream of treating them like that. Suddenly a twinge of guilt caught up with him. He saw certain parallels between Nashton's father and himself. When did he ever see his kids anymore? The answer was; only when they were asleep. His wife…barely any different.

Alice Travers cocked her head slightly to one side and smiled a cautious smile.

"Was it something I said, Commissioner?"

He smiled gently back to her and shook his head.

"No, not at all…"

She brushed a strand of hair away from her face and shrugged.

"You looked like you were far away somewhere."

Now it was his turn to shrug.

"It's nothing."

She nodded briefly and didn't press the matter further. Instead she continued the profiling of Edward Nashton.

"This was the start of one of the most successful hackers we've come across in recent years. Edward Nashton started exploring the internet when it was still new, and by the time the rest of us caught on he knew every nook and cranny, every loophole, not to mention every update. He got caught once. _Once_. In over a decade of dedicating himself to more or less malicious hacking. That says about everything when it comes to how good this guy is. That said, he craves attention. It has come to a point now where he does things because he knows we will notice them. The first thing he did to catch our attention was to create a vacuum in the stock market which caused the stocks in his father's company to plummet. Put his father out of business in two days. After that, he has continued to amuse himself by pulling various stunts he knew would get our attention, ranging from severe copyright violation to downright theft. As far as I'm concerned this is just his last effort to prove his supremacy. The problem is, he's not harmless. Had he been, I would have told you to just go along with it…play until he gets bored and moves on. But as it stands…"

"…We have to stop him."

He finished the sentence for her, and she nodded to show that their thoughts had indeed gone in the same direction. Gordon sighed, before saying;

"I agree completely. My problem is; I have no idea how to stop this man."

She nodded in understanding.

"You have no idea how it grieves me to say this, Commissioner. But at this point, neither do I."

* * *

Connie had decided to use a couple of days of vacation time and treat herself to an extended weekend. After everything that had happened to her she needed some time to focus on herself outside of work, and have some fun. It seemed those around her also thought it was a good idea, because her brother sounded inexplicably pleased when she called to hear if her niece wanted to go ice skating and Christmas shopping after school the next day. Claudia had jumped at the opportunity, and Connie was now on her way out of her apartment to pick her up.

It was a beautiful, sunny, winter day, and that in itself was unusual for Gotham, but Connie was just glad of the change. For once, the weather seemed to correspond to her mood, because she felt inexplicably cheerful despite the battle against time she had participated in a couple days previous. She looked forward to not offering a thought to the Riddler and his games, though she also realized it would probably be difficult. After the last of his little stunts, the Riddler had become headlining news, and she assumed he would also be on the front page of every major newspaper. But that day, she was determined to do her very best not to care.

When she rang the doorbell at her brother's house, Claudia met her at the door and immediately started to talk about anything and everything that fell into her head. Connie laughed, and chatted along, exchanging a few words with her brother too, before heading back out the way she came, this time with her niece in tow.

* * *

"I must say, Master Wayne, I don't like this plan much." Alfred Pennyworth said quietly to his master. They were in the underground chamber that had become the main storage area for any and all equipment that Bruce Wayne might need for his nighttime exploits. Bruce was attaching the final straps and buckles that held his armor in place, but turned to look at Alfred, who was surveying several monitors from a high-backed chair halfway across the room.

"You've never had a problem with me breaking and entering before…"

"That is because your breaking and entering has been restricted to condemned buildings, warehouses and other buildings owned by various people affiliated with organized crime. Now you're about to break into the home of a young woman who has done _nothing_ wrong, and whose only crime is being caught up in a plot she did not instigate and does not fully understand."

Bruce sighed. He understood why his butler was uncomfortable, but he needed a second look at Connie Tate's apartment. Edward Nashton might have given her a clue as to what he would do next without her realizing, or even knowing he had.

"With any luck she won't even notice anyone's been there."

"That does not make what you are about to do any more right, Master Wayne."

* * *

Even though her niece could talk a hole in the head of a statue, Connie loved spending time with her. She recognized the ten-year old's enthusiasm and knew that she possessed some of it herself. In the business world as she had seen it so far, it seemed as if enthusiasm of any kind was rare and hard to come by. Some even seemed to think it beneath them. She had heard whispers questioning her professionalism, presumably because she easily got excited when dealing with new ideas. Luckily for her, her boss shared her excitement, and she knew that some had whispered the same things about him, but look where he had ended up.

The hours seemed to fly by as Connie and Claudia skated on a rink set up in North City Park, and later travelled to Midtown in search of Christmas presents, and when the exited the last department store on their route darkness had already fallen. Connie took Claudia home, and declined the offer her brother made her to stay for dinner, before heading back to her own apartment.

When she unlocked her apartment door, a sudden feeling struck her, a feeling that something wasn't as it should be. She wasn't sure what made her react, but when she pushed the door open it was with a cautiousness that hadn't been present a moment earlier. Carefully she stepped inside, and put her shopping bags on the floor just inside the door. Without turning on the lights she stepped further into the apartment, making as little noise as she could.

Nothing seemed out of place at first, a light in the kitchen was on, the same with the living room, but she remembered leaving them on before she left. She couldn't point her finger at what it was that had set her on her guard. All she knew was that something was not right.

Then she noticed something. On the kitchen counter was the mail she had received that morning, but even though she could remember having left it there waiting to be opened, it still seemed somewhat out of place, like it had been rearranged or something. When she noticed a letter had been opened, albeit neatly so, she knew what her gut had been telling her since she opened the door: Someone was, or had been in her apartment.

The realization made her feel sick to her stomach, while also sending shivers down her spine. She had had break-ins before, but that was when she lived in another part of town, where you had to expect everything to be stolen that wasn't nailed down. And she had never come home to a potential burglar before. She took a couple of deep breaths to steady herself, and the initial fear waned and she was able to think more clearly. A quick glance around the apartment revealed that nothing seemed to be missing. The TV, the stereo, it was all still there….and that was rather strange, wasn't it. Steal the mail, leave the TV? Even in Gotham the burglars were smarter than that.

Her thoughts started to catch up with her now, and she realized that very few burglars had the ability to walk through locked doors. In fact, she could only think of one…

A barely audible sound coming from the direction of her bedroom seemed to support the conclusion she had just made.

Now the fear and the nausea gave way to anger. She hurried out of the kitchen, through the living room and threw open the door that lead to her bedroom and her home office. She ran down the hall and noticed that her bedroom door was slightly ajar. Her heart raced as she pushed the door open and stepped inside. She quickly saw that she hadn't mistaken the burglar's identity, she recognized the looming black clad figure with the cloak billowing in the soft breeze almost instantly. He had a way of leaving a solid first impression. But this time, she wasn't afraid of him, or curious, or mystified, but furious. She didn't hesitate, but strode over to him, not really knowing what she would do when she reached him, except that it would be physical, and preferably cause him some degree of pain.

He was about to leap from the windowsill when he heard her enter, and contemplated for a second if he should simply jump and slip through her fingers, but he decided not to. When Fate, or coincidence, depending on what you believed in, had caused her to come home at the same time as he had chosen to break into her home, then perhaps he ought to try and explain at least partially. Still crouching, balancing on the windowsill he turned to face her, while trying to find the words that could make her understand.

If he found the words, he did not need them, because she didn't give him the chance to say anything. Instead, when he turned around, she walked up to him and punched him square in the jaw. For a split second he stumbled, but quickly jumped back into the room and regained his footing. She had stepped back, and by the looks of it she wanted very much to deliver another blow, but she didn't. Instead, she spoke, and her voice was trembling with suppressed anger.

"Why are you here?! What the hell are you after?!?"

"That hurt."

"Yeah, right… You broke into my home, you stupid ass, not once but twice in the course of a few days. Did you expect me to welcome you?!? I ought to punch you in the face!"

"You already did."

"It obviously had no effect."

"Then perhaps you should reconsider your plan of action."

She shrugged. That made sense. Slyly she pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her jeans, dialed a number and held it up so he could see it.

"How about I call the police. That a better plan?"

"I'd be gone long before they arrive."

"Of course you would. But they want you bad…another sighting would definitely reinvigorate their search for you. Potentially causing you a world of trouble…You'd be unable to roam around for days, weeks, perhaps even months, and I doubt your one friend on the force would be able to do anything about that."

He had to admit her threat carried some meaning. A call to the police would definitely promote a scale-up of the hunt for him, and if you added all the surrounding office politics Gordon would probably not be able to prevent it. Even if he were to try it would look strange, since public opinion had the Batman pegged as a murderer and Gordon as Gotham's remaining hope of salvation.

"What are you after?" She asked again, more intently this time, taking advantage of the glimpse of insecurity she thought she saw in his eyes.

He straightened, and a barely audible sigh escaped his lips. He had half a mind to knock her unconscious and save himself the trouble of explaining anything more to her, and save her from getting tangled up in something more she could not fully control or understand. But he couldn't bring himself to do it, because although she lacked some of his insight, she was the key, Edward Nashton had chosen her for some reason only known to him.

Although he realized that protecting her could cost him dearly, he knew he had to do it if, or rather when, it came to that. The reason was simple; she trusted him, in a fashion he could only liken to Jim Gordon. It was not foolproof in any way, nor was it always present, but it was intuitive, an intuition mixed with common sense. She had been scared of him at first, which made sense since she, like the rest of the city, thought him a murderer and a vigilante, but now she was no longer frightened – unless he made the effort to frighten her. He had seen her curious and perplexed, and now – righteously angry. And perhaps it was that righteousness most of all that kept him from harming her, after all he was the intruder.

So, instead of hitting her over the head he reached into one of the compartments of his belt and pulled out a sheet of paper, holding it out to her. Somewhat surprised at his surrender, she reached out and took it, carefully unfolding it. For a moment she simply looked at it, before straightening to look at him once again.

"You broke into my apartment for a crossword puzzle?"

"When was the last time you received a green crossword puzzle in the mail?"

He paused, and waited for her to realize that the sheet she held in her hand was in fact green. When he saw the shocked look in her eyes, he continued;

"The police have identified the Riddler as Edward Nashton. Does the name mean anything to you?"

Connie thought for a moment, before shaking her head.

"No, nothing. Should it?"

"It would help explain his obsession with you."

"Not necessarily. An obsession, if that is what it is, doesn't have to be rational, so him knowing me wouldn't necessarily explain anything."

"Who's the psychoanalyst now?"

She grinned, and held her hands up in surrender.

"Touché."

Connie stepped forward, until she was so close she could easily reach out and touch him, and held the sheet out to him.

"If I give you this, will you promise me never to break into my apartment again?"

"You know I can't promise that. You're the player – Edward Nashton relates everything to you."

"And what exactly does that make you, who breaks into my home in an effort to keep me from playing this game?"

He took a small step towards her, closing the gap between them even further. They were now so close she had to tilt her head slightly upwards to keep eye contact with him. She didn't flinch, but her heart began to beat faster as she felt the intense presence radiating from the man towering in front of her. His voice seemed to send shivers down her spine although it was gentle now in comparison to what she had heard before.

"One who can help you."

She jumped slightly as he took both her hands and closed them around the folded sheet of paper she was holding. Their eyes met, and he held her gaze for a moment that to her seemed to last much longer than it actually did. In an effort to break away from his gaze, and the feeling that he could see right into her soul, she took a step back. Steadying herself with a deep breath, she held up the sheet and said;

"Ok…then let's play."


	8. A Night At The Opera

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all associated characters are the property of DC Comics, and the movie rights belong to Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story. Connie Tate and the other original characters in this story belong to me.  
**Author's Notes:** A big 'thank you' to all of you who have reviewed this story so far. Most of you seem to like the story, and I'm so glad! Your feedback truly means a lot to me, so new and old readers alike - please take a minute to write a review. Doesn't matter if it's positive or constructive criticism, I appreciate them all.  
Ok, I admit I squeal at good reviews, and although I may not squeal if you offer constructive criticism, I appreciate that too, I really do. Lastly, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

* * *

Before she sat down on one of the bar-stools that stood against the kitchen counter, she quickly discarded her coat and outdoor shoes next to the couch. A part of her brain warned her intensely about doing what she was now planning to do, to voluntarily go even deeper into the Riddler's twisted world. Batman had given him a name, Edward Nashton, but she found herself struggling to think of him as a human being. Even though she knew that humans were able to think up the most horrendous things to hurt one another, there was something distant and inhuman about this man's actions. For days now she had been tangled up in his web, and she had not even seen the man behind it all. She realized that although he had come close to killing her, she felt much more distant towards Edward Nashton than she did the Batman. For the Batman she had no name, no face, just a looming shadow, but at least he was a physical form she could relate to. Edward Nashton was nothing but a ghost. A potentially very dangerous ghost, yes, but a ghost none the less.

Connie unfolded the sheet of paper and smoothed it out against the countertop. Now she noticed that the sheet was actually two colors, ordinary white and green. The crossword puzzle looked completely ordinary, except for the fact that the squares belonging to some of the words on the grid were green instead of white. When looking at it, it was obvious that the words in green were the words they needed to figure out to advance, whatever that meant this time.

"Where do we even start?" She asked, not really expecting an answer.

He leant in from one side, and she turned the sheet in his direction so he wouldn't have to read at an angle.

"Marine exhibit, right there." He pointed at an eight letter word almost in the center of the page."

"Aquarium." Both said simultaneously. Connie grabbed a pen and wrote it down. Surveying the rest of the crossword, she said;

"We're going to be here a while, aren't we?"

"Probably."

The definitive answer from the shadows made her smile, for no real reason except that she found it amusing. In an absurd situation like this it was a relief to have someone at her side who called a spade a spade, even if he did wear a mask.

_He rewound the tape and pressed the 'play' button again. This was getting more and more interesting by the minute. It seemed the Batman had taken an interest in his game, not to mention his opposing player. All the more fun… From the footage it would seem that the Batman practiced some sort of chivalry. He found it thoroughly amusing to watch the two of them quarrel about who had the right to be there. True enough, he hadn't really planned for the Batman to get involved, but now that he saw how much fun the human bat could be, he wondered if he hadn't secretly wished__ for it from the start. Wasn't this the challenge he had really craved, to match wits with Gotham's self-appointed protector? If so, it would definitely seem that he had gotten his wish. Now he need only prove that he was up to the task. _

_On a slightly more disturbing note it had come to his attention that the Gotham Police Department now had contacted the FBI and had managed to identify him. Still, he wasn't too worried. None who worked in the FBI had been close to capturing him since that unfortunate episode when he was still a teenager, and as for their profilers… Well, he could outsmart them with even less effort than it would take him to outsmart the Bat. Still, he hadn't expected the police to move quite so fast. Perhaps it was part of the aftershock after the chaos created by this Joker character…perhaps Gotham now realized that they had every reason to be afraid. That had been part of his goal, of course. What he hadn't counted on was that now that same thing might potentially threaten part of his plan._

It took them over two hours to solve the entire crossword, even if Batman proved to have a much more solid grip on synonyms than Connie could ever have suspected. Despite that, they needed the help of a synonym dictionary to solve a couple of the more far-fetched words. When they had all the words, another puzzle began – figuring out their correct order. It was obvious from the words that together they formed a message, the tricky part came when they had to figure out what message they were supposed to though it was easier than figuring out some of the words, it still took them a few tries to find a message that made any kind of sense.

"After your performance in the Aquarium I must say that congratulations are in order." Connie read out, after scribbling down what they had concluded must be the first line of the message.

"Yeah, congratulations on nearly missing all of those knives," she added sarcastically, before continuing to read.

"The prize is this – you live to continue the game. Now, be ready for another puzzle and prepare for a night at the opera. I guarantee the performance will be worth it."

In bewilderment Connie turned and looked in the direction of the Batman. He seemed to have faded further into the shadows, but she could still see his eyes formerly glinting in the semi-darkness.

"What on earth does he mean by this?"

"I suspect he wants you to go to the Opera and find out. There is a fundraiser taking place there tomorrow evening, that must be what he's referring to."

"Well, in that case the game ends right here. I'm hardly going to get into a fundraiser…"

"You managed to get into the Aquarium well enough," he remarked dryly.

"Yeah, well, I didn't need an invitation to get in there, did I? And there wasn't much, if any security to avoid either…"

"You will find a way."

"How?!? How am I supposed to pull this off?"

Connie jumped from her seat and spun to face the figure in the shadows.

"The closest I've ever been to a fundraiser is looking at pictures in a magazine! Even if I could find a way to get in, I have _no _idea how to act with those people! I struggle getting through the parties at work, and I know people there, for Christ' sake…"

She had stormed towards him in a sudden anger, which just as suddenly turned into insecurity, and now she waved a hand in a gesture that suggested complete uselessness.

He stepped from the shadow and put his hands on her shoulder, turning her gently towards him.

"Look at me."

It was an order, but it wasn't unkind in any way. She obeyed, feeling small and powerless under his penetrating gaze.

"You _will_ find a way."

"You said…" she hesitated, and her voice trembled slightly with insecurity, and the feeling of suddenly being utterly alone.

"You said you'd help me…"

For the briefest of moments when she looked up, she thought she saw the shadow of a smile on his lips, but she could not be certain. What surprised her even more was how gentle his voice now sounded…friendly even, if that word could be used to describe such a voice.

"I will. But I have to do it in darkness, there is no other way."

He took one step away from her, then another, before she reached out a hand in an effort to hold him back. She realized that he was about to leave her with another task, one she thought she could never accomplish. He had talked his way out of her calling the police by saying he'd help her, but so far he had done nothing that could even resemble helping. Didn't he understand that she had no chance of getting into that opera house on her own? Not to mention she was already scared of what would be set in motion once she got there…

Despite the fact that she had let go of him, he turned back to her and fixed her with a pair of eyes as dark as the rest of his visage.

"Trust me."

The words were simple, but something about the way he said them made her straighten up and focus. He turned and began walking, and even though she kept her eyes on him every step he took, he still somehow managed to disappear right in front of her. She blinked, and he was gone.

For a while she wondered if what she had just been through had actually happened or if it had just been a figment of her imagination. But then she saw the finished crossword puzzle lying on the countertop in front of her and she realized that even though she wished it to be, this wasn't a bad dream. She took a deep breath, in an effort to clear her head.

There had to be a way, she decided. There had to be a way for her to get into that opera house. At this point she had no idea what that might be, but she was determined not to give up. She couldn't, because there might be more lives at stake.

She went through to the living room, turned one of the chairs towards the window and sat down. She realized that the best idea would be to get some sleep, but she didn't feel like going back into the bedroom, since it obviously wasn't the sanctuary she had mistaken it for. Instead she sat looking out over the city, watching the lights flicker on or off, waiting, hoping that some sort of brilliant plan would suddenly fall into her head.

* * *

Bruce Wayne already had a plan of sorts formed in his head by the time he took the private elevator up to his penthouse. Since he didn't know for sure what Edward Nashton had planned for Connie Tate and Batman, of course his plan was not complete, but it was a set of precautions that would allow him to be prepared. As he stepped into the main hallway, Alfred emerged from an adjourning room and greeted him.

"Edward Nashton is planning another one of his 'performances' at the fundraiser," Bruce said simply, before continuing;

"We need to forward an invitation to Connie Tate, or rather, Batman needs to forward an invitation."

"Somehow I can't quite picture the Batman at that fundraiser, sir."

"Which is precisely why Connie is going to be there instead." Bruce offered a calm smile in the direction of his butler. As an afterthought he said;

"We need to move the gear closer though, Batman might have to make a surprise appearance…especially if Edward Nashton is planning to do the same."

"You think he's planning on finally showing his face, sir?"

"Perhaps. The police know his identity, and he knows that they know. The fact that they can't connect his name to anything but the face of a fifteen year old boy might make him even more desperate for their attention. Also, in his message to Connie Tate he promised her a performance…"

"If I may say so, sir, it would seem that this city has a certain draw on people with a penchant for theatrics." Alfred remarked.

Bruce consented with a nod and a crooked sideway glance, to show that the irony was not lost on him.

* * *

She awoke with a start, looking for whatever it was that had caused her to wake, but didn't see anything. Realizing she had dozed off in the chair, she gingerly stood up and stretched. The previous night was still fresh in her mind, but she realized that she was hardly going to find the solution to her problem in the Gotham skyline, so she showered and ate and did all the things she would normally do on a day off. But her enthusiasm had waned considerably since the day before, because the Riddler's puzzle was constantly in the back of her mind despite whatever else she did, and the desperation of not being able to find a way forward was growing steadily even if she didn't want to admit it.

The way forward was however closer than she could ever have expected, and it manifested itself when suddenly the doorbell rang. Warily, Connie cracked open the door, seeing a man wearing the uniform of a well known delivery company.

"Constance Tate?" He asked hesitantly.

She confirmed that she was Connie Tate, and opened the door wider. Now she saw that the delivery man was holding a rather large parcel with one hand and a clipboard with the other. Gingerly he handed her the clipboard, and said;

"I need your signature on this."

Connie took the clipboard and scribbled her signature next to her typed name on the list, before handing it back. The man glanced briefly at the signature before handing her the parcel, which was so big that she had to hold it with both hands. She still had no idea what the parcel was all about, she hadn't ordered anything recently, and she didn't know of anyone who would send her anything. Not unless this was another taunt from the Riddler…

She said a brief 'goodbye' to the delivery man before stepping back into her apartment and closing the door behind her. She carried the parcel into the living room, and put it down on the small table in front of the sofa.

With some apprehension she pulled the lid off of the white box. First there were a few layers of thin wrapping paper, but when she peeled away those the contents of the box made her gasp.

The first thing that went through her mind was that this was definitely not from the Riddler. What shocked her more was what it was, and who it was from. Carefully she picked up a carefully crafter piece of metal in the shape of a bat that lay on top. She had seen its like before, in police evidence bags on the news or in the papers, identified as a symbol of the criminal Batman. She had never thought that she would see the symbol, or the man it represented, up close. And now that she had seen both she had expected to feel fear, but all she felt was a strange sort of realization, as if the sight and feel of the bat-symbol had confirmed everything that had happened and made it real. A realization that she was quickly approaching the point of no return.

Carefully she put the symbol aside, and took up the next item, a thick, white envelope decorated with gold. Carefully she opened it, and pulled out a card decorated with the same golden leaf-motif as the envelope.

"I'll be damned…"

She stared at the card for a moment, shocked, before a wide, wolfish grin that she was glad nobody was there to see spread across her face. The card proved to be an invitation to the very fundraiser she had spent hours of the previous night trying, albeit half-heartedly, to figure out how to get into. But it didn't stop there, the next item in the box was the last, and by far the most surprising considering the sender. From the box she pulled a black, floor-length, sequined evening gown. It had a V-necked front, a low cut back and short butterfly sleeves to hold it all together. It really looked stunning, and she was surprised to discover it was a high-end label.

For a moment she just sat there, on the floor by the couch in her living room, her mind resting on nothing in particular. It was close to three p.m, three hours to go until the fundraiser started. Three hours that she could use as she pleased, before engaging in another round of a game she had little control over. She felt apprehensive, perhaps uneasy, but not really scared. Although she didn't look forward to mingling with Gotham's wealthy elite, she knew she had to find a way to handle it. After all, how many of them would have risked hypothermia trying to keep the city powered? She couldn't back out now, not when the Batman had handed her everything she needed on a silver platter.

When she stepped out of the cab in front of the Opera House she stood for a moment taking in the sight. The building that rose before her looked majestic, like it had stood there for centuries, and could probably stand for a few more. Carefully, she stepped from the curb and walked up the stairs to the entrance. There were a few people from the press there, but none of them seemed particularly concerned with her, and she was extremely glad of that fact. A sign at the entrance said that tonight the Opera was hosting a fundraiser for rebuilding Gotham General Hospital. She handed her invitation to one of the three men guarding the door, and one of the attendants opened the door for her. She smiled and thanked him before stepping inside.

The inside of the Opera looked just as majestic as the outside, there were deep velvets and dark colored wood everywhere, accented by glass and gold. Even though she straightened and tried to think that she was just as good as any other person in that room, she still felt incredibly small. Not wanting to remain standing just inside the door, she took a few hesitant steps into the room. Again, she tried to get a grip on herself, and this time she succeeded to some extent, and the thought 'This is probably the first and last time I'll ever be at a fundraiser. I might as well enjoy it' seemed to take root in her mind. She began to walk around, picked up snippets of idle conversation, watched the architect model of the new hospital that was on display and tried to look like she belonged there.

* * *

Bruce Wayne's entrance to the same event was quite different from Connie Tate's. The press was all over him, especially when they noticed that his arms were curiously devoid of the usual up-and-coming models and actresses that Bruce Wayne brought with him on occasions like this. He largely ignored the repetitive questions, flashed them the same, brilliant, smile he used every time, a smile that looked good but said nothing, and walked inside as fast as he could without actually hurrying. Once inside he took a deep breath, and started scanning the room for her. He was anxious to see if she had the courage to show up. He didn't think her cowardly in any way, but now that she was more aware of the game being played, it took some guts to show acceptance and step into the fire, as it were. Personally, he thought she had begun to walk a path of acceptance, and although she wasn't at the end of that path yet, she hadn't gone to great lengths to shy away from it either., and that was a good sign.

He caught sight of her over by a scale model of the new hospital, and smiled. He had given Alfred the task of picking out a fitting gown for Miss Tate, and the result was classy, like he had expected, and really quite beautiful. In a good way she stood out against the rest of the women in the crowd, but from the insecure look in her eyes she didn't realize it.

He began making his way over to her, stopping every now and then to say a few empty phrases to people who wanted to know him. When he reached her he stood for a moment watching her from behind, studying her. She was alluring…not really mysterious, but different. Charming, but feisty, as proven by the bruise he now sported on his jawline. He watched as she brought a hand tentatively to her neck, while at the same time bringing her head slightly downwards, before he stepped closer and brought his own hand gently into contact with hers.

"Stop fussing. You look great."

"Mr. Wayne!"

She spun around to face him, only to see him smile.

"Please, Miss Tate, call me Bruce. I didn't expect to see you here."

It took her a moment to get her bearings, but she was soon displaying the same inviting smile he had seen before.

"Really? You don't seem that surprised…"

He shrugged.

"It's camouflage. I'm glad you're here. The journalists outside the door were kind enough to point out to me that I'm curiously devoid of female companions tonight. But I figured that was the only way you'd let me get you a drink…"

She grinned.

"I'm flattered that you'd leave all the models, actresses, ballerinas or whatever they all are pining at home for my sake."

Connie had no idea whether what she was hearing contained even a grain of truth, but she decided to go along with it. It couldn't hurt, she was outside of work, not to mention desperately out of her depth in the situation, so perhaps the best thing she could do was go with the flow of things. But she was very clear with herself that if he turned out to be as stupid as he was portrayed in all the magazines, she would walk away. No matter how rich he was, she wasn't about to waste time on a bore that had nothing which could interest her.

"Well, that's got to be a good sign. Flattered enough to accept a drink from me?"

She thought about it for a second, before she said;

"Alright, on three conditions."

He laughed, and looked at her in wonder.

"You have conditions?"

She nodded, and brushed a strand of hair away from her face. It seemed that her confidence had gotten a sudden boost, and her confidence brought forward more of the traits he had seen glimpses of before.

"Yes. First, you'd have to get me a drink I actually like. Second, you'd have to refrain from bragging about how many buildings or businesses you own, because I really don't give a damn. And third, you'd have to share something with me that the journalists out front don't already know…"

"What, so you could sell it to them later?"

"Yes, because that's exactly the sort of thing I'd do when the man I'm with owns the company I work for. Come on, what exactly do you take me for? Look, I like my job, and I'd like to keep it, but I'll be frank; If you prove to be the thoughtless idiot you look like in all those magazines, I'm not going to waste my time on you."

She had no idea how he would react to this, but she felt it appropriate to be honest. To her surprise he smiled.

"Deal. Let's start with something easy; what kind of drinks _do_ you like?"

He took one of her hands in his own, and gently placed his other hand on her back, leading her towards the bar.

Connie's cocktail of choice proved to be a Long Island Ice Tea, and when the two of them sat down on one of the many couches that had been placed around the spacious foyer she seemed a little more comfortable around him. She had a sweet smile, a smile that was almost constantly present, and sometimes took on various degrees of mischief depending on the topic of conversation. He'd noticed it before, of course, when he had been alone with her, like the afternoon in the offices of R&D, but even though he knew it, it seemed different now. He also found that she seemed to have loosened up a little, because their conversation now branched out into several topics, and to his delight he found that she was not afraid to voice opinions. Of course he couldn't admit that to her…he was still somewhat unsure if what he was doing, changing her perception of him from idiot to something other than, was a wise thing to do. But he knew that it was the only way to get in contact with her. Like she had freely admitted herself, behaving like a selfish playboy would not get him her attention.

There was a moment of silence before she sipped her drink, and said;

"You still have one condition to fulfill. Tell me something about Bruce Wayne that I don't already know…"

Her voice was gentle, and the utterance wasn't formed like a command, more like encouragement.

He sipped his own drink, and thought for a while about what to say. Everything that could reveal anything about what he was still spending many of his nights doing was out of the question, but there was something else. Something simple, that had taken place years before his awakening, that the press had no idea about.

"Alright. Once, when I was fifteen, Alfred and me were…"

"Hold on. Who's Alfred?"

"Back then he was my guardian, now he's the butler."

"Figures, I knew there had to be a butler somewhere… Don't mind me, go on."

She took another sip of her drink, and with a hand gesture she urged him on.

"Anyway, I'd talked him into coming with me to this ski resort, and we barely made it there because there was a storm. All the slopes were closed of course, and for a fifteen year old with his heart set on skiing, that's not fun. So, when we'd gotten settled in the hotel, I told Alfred I was tired and going to bed, but instead I snuck out, bought some skis off of a guy I ran into in the parking lot…"

He stopped for a moment to savor the broad grin that had appeared on her face as he was telling the story.

"Oh come on, don't stop! I like where this is going!"

"Alright, alright…My mind was completely focused on skiing down that mountain, come hell or high water, so I began the trek up the hillside. It was dark, cold and I couldn't see a damn thing. Not ideal when you're trekking up a mountain. Even less so when you're skiing down…"

"Oh god…" She said, somewhere between disbelief and laughter.

"Yeah. I skied down a mountainside in the dark, way outside any of the marked slopes... It didn't work out to well."

"What happened?"

"I broke a leg. Got to experience what it's like being rescued from a mountain in a helicopter. The ego of that fifteen year old boy got bruised…"

"I don't suppose you got grounded like a normal fifteen-year old would?"

He shook his head.

"No, Alfred would never have done that. But I had to listen to his sarcastic remarks for days on end while my leg healed up, that was just as bad, believe me."

Again, she laughed, and he enjoyed the sound of it because it didn't sound forced in the least.

"How about that bruise on your face, how'd you get that?"

He automatically brought a hand to his face, and traced the outline of his jaw. He hesitated, but after a moment said;

"Spelunking."

He smiled, and took a sip of his drink, watching her closely. He saw no suspicion, only the curiosity and enthusiasm that seemed to be ever present. She mimicked him, taking a sip of her own drink before asking;

"You're into extreme sports?"

He shrugged.

"A guy has got to do something to get his kicks…"

Her smile turned mischievous and she said;

"I have to say, from the outside your whole life looks like one huge adrenaline rush…"

"It's not really as exciting as is looks in the news, but I enjoy it for the most part…"

That was a flat out lie. He did not enjoy himself most of the time he spent being Bruce Wayne, in fact there was very little about his lifestyle that he considered fun. But he had become a master of deception in more than one way, and he knew how to make it look like his life was one big party.

There was a pause in conversation where both of them sat surveying the other, before he said;

"Your turn," he said, "tell me something about yourself."

She shrugged, and said simply;

"What do you want to know?"

At this point he was used to hearing all about modeling contracts or acting jobs, but he could not remember a single time when his dates had asked him what he wanted to know about them. Usually they just said all the things they thought would interest him, or impress him, so this was another one of Connie Tate's traits working in her favor.

"I want to know about that tattoo on your shoulder."

"You saw that?"

Now it was his turn to laugh again, this time at her apparent surprise. The tattoo in question was a butterfly in flight circled with two vines bearing flowers on Connie's right shoulder. What set it apart from the many butterflies and flowers he had seen on his girlfriends before was that the butterfly's wings appeared to be made out of quills. A personal touch like that usually meant something.

"You do know that the dress you're wearing is backless, right?"

"Yeah, I just didn't think you noticed things like that, much less cared…"

She took another sip of her drink, before she continued.

"It's in honor of my parents, well, mostly in honor of my dad. He was a mechanic by profession and an inventor by disposition. One of his idols was Leonardo DaVinci…"

"Was? Is he…?" Strangely enough he found he couldn't bring himself to say the word 'dead'. It seemed cruel, in a way, to bring a word like that into a conversation with a woman who laughed so freely.

She nodded in response, knowing perfectly well the word he couldn't bring himself to say, and when she answered her voice took on a different tone, sad but still easy. Nothing indicated that this was something she felt uncomfortable talking about.

"Yeah…he died when I was twelve. Got shot on his way home from work one day. It's the basic Gotham sob story, isn't it? Robbery gone wrong… Anyway, it was a hard blow to our family, me in particular, I was always daddy's girl…"

She smiled, and he was surprised to find that the smile still seemed sincere.

"He used to call me his butterfly, probably because I was just was whimsical then as I am now… So when I was in college, and I started to feel…more at peace with things, I got the tattoo as a way to prove to myself that I could learn to accept where my life had brought me. By then I'd started to feel comfortable as a whimsical butterfly, and I still am."

Her smile broadened, and he found himself to be both amazed and admiring. Amazed because of the thought that someone else, who had her father taken away from her at a young age, could come to some sort of acceptance, admiring because he knew that he could never do the same.

The conversation was interrupted by a bell ringing somewhere nearby, and everyone started to move towards the seating area. He stood, finished his drink and offered her an arm. She took it, but seemed suddenly unsure.

"Are you sure they'll let us sit together?"

"Of course, why shouldn't they?"

"I don't know, maybe there's some unwritten opera rule that I have no clue about. How should I know, I've never been to the opera before!?!

"Really? Then you've picked a good night to start. _The Marriage of Figaro_ is a classic…you'll like it."

"You go to the opera often, Mr. Wayne?"

It was said with a smile, and she used his surname jokingly, implying that she had a good idea that the opera was not the place where Bruce Wayne spent much of his time.

"No, not really. But I have managed to catch a few performances," he said, returning her smile. What he didn't mention was that most of those performances had been trials he had made himself endure in an effort to vanquish some of the ghosts that still haunted him. It usually did not matter what was performed, the images of the night that had changed his life twenty years or so before always came, varying in strength and intensity, but always present.

But tonight he had a couple of things that could keep his mind occupied. First, there was the fact that he wasn't alone, and had discovered that Connie Tate was actually quite pleasurable company. Second, there was Edward Nashton, and his veiled threat. As he led Connie to their seats in one of the balconies, he contemplated what Edward Nashton could have planned that involved a charity opera performance. Nothing very obvious struck him, but he knew that whatever it was it would probably involve Connie…and the Batman.

An hour and a half later at intermission, nothing odd or out of the ordinary had happened outside the stage. The audience, including Connie and Bruce, made their way back out into the foyer for half an hour of drinks and gossip before the performance continued. Connie had started to hope that nothing would come of the Riddler's promise, but a nagging feeling in the deep of her gut said that the evening was not over yet.

Ten minutes or so had passed, when the lights in the foyer were suddenly dimmed for no apparent reason. Connie, who at that point stood with a glass of champagne in her hand listening to Bruce trying to convince her that a boatful of Russian ballerinas weren't all it was cracked up to be, turned around to see if she could get a glimpse of whatever it was that was going on.

Connie had been unaware of anything unusual up to that point, but the same could not be said for Bruce. He always kept a close eye on his surroundings, and had noticed that ever since they re-entered the foyer there were some guests that seemed out of place. He counted fourteen, all men, all dressed in black. He knew, even before the lights went down, that something was about to happen. He also knew that there was very little he could do about it at the moment…one of the disadvantages of masquerading as a somewhat clueless billionaire.

Connie couldn't see what happened next, but there was a general commotion and she heard a woman's voice scream, before the crowd suddenly parted, and she saw a group of black-clad men forcing their way to the front. All of them were forcing a partygoer in front of them at knifepoint. They stopped in front of the grand staircase, as the crowd drew back in fear. Before a firm hand gripped her upper arm and pulled her back, Connie caught a glimpse of a figure standing at the top of the staircase, calmly surveying the action taking place below. He had an odd appearance, and had obviously mistaken a night at the opera for a night at the masquerade, because he looked like something out of a book, a book set at least one hundred and fifty years in the past. He wore a top hat, and his long overcoat was of deep green velvet, shining in the dimmed light. He was wearing a simple, black mask, like one could wear at a carnival or a masquerade, and leant nonchalantly on a black cane with a silver handle, a smile curling around his lips.

He waited for near complete silence, and spoke only over the whimpers of the people who had a knife to their throats. His voice was near a whisper, but still fully audible, and it was a menacing whisper that Connie had no problem recognizing. She had heard it before, coming from the speakers of her computer. There was not a trace of doubt in her mind, The Riddler had entered the Gotham Opera, and he had every intention of being the star of his own show.


	9. The Riddler's Labyrinth

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all other related characters are the property of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is made from the publishing of this story. Original character Connie Tate as well as some of her family members, friends and colleagues are of my own creation and copyrighted to me.  
**Author's Notes:** First of all, sorry for the slow update. For some reason I've had a period of virtually none-existent inspiration to write, but now my ideas seem like they are starting to come back so hopefully it'll soon be over. I hate losing inspiration. As always, a big thank you to everyone who takes the time to review - I love to read your comments! I hope you enjoy the new chapter and keep the reviews coming.

* * *

Slowly, not wanting anyone to miss a single move he made, he began to descend the staircase, occasionally twirling his cane, or tipping his hat at a random onlooker. Connie stood on her toes trying to see over the heads of the people in front of her. Her heart was racing, but she wanted to see him. She had to see him, she didn't care that he wore a mask, to see him meant that he was real. The ghost in the machine had taken human form. She assumed that Bruce was somewhere behind her, but the people in the crowd were so close together that she couldn't turn around properly and look.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen."

His voice was matter-of-factly, but he sounded amused, like this was his perfect idea of fun.

"In ancient Crete there was a great king, whose kingdom was plagued by a ferocious beast. The beast was caged deep in the center of a great labyrinth, but demanded that every ninth year, seven young women and seven young men would have to give up their lives by entering the labyrinth, as a tribute. Tonight…" He paused in front of one of the captured women and waited for a moment before continuing,

"…I am that beast."

Again, he paused, but this time he turned towards the crowd and spread his arms in an including gesture.

"But I'm not picky. Nor am I unreasonable… The fourteen randomly selected people you see before you may keep their lives, if… one of you is willing to step up and take their place by entering my own personal labyrinth."

As if on cue, a picture on the far wall swung silently open to reveal a black, rectangular hole in the stone, six or seven feet tall, and about three feet wide. Whatever was on the other side of the wall was completely in darkness, not a single detail could be made out to reveal what was coming to one who might dare to step inside.

Connie realized that the moment she had dreaded since the previous night had now come to pass, and she knew that the Riddler expected her to step up. He probably knew she was there, had probably known all along, and now he was going to throw her into darkness in that maze. Not by force, obviously, but he knew, as well as she did herself that she wasn't going to let fourteen people die for her sake. The crowd stood silent in terror, and she turned, looking for Bruce, hoping to find him and find some way to explain to him what she now thought to do. But to her surprise he was nowhere to be seen. Stunned, she turned back, just as the Riddler said;

"Come now, you disappoint me. Some of you helped save an entire city, but none of you dare step forward to save fourteen innocent lives?"

Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating furiously in her chest. She tried to find some kind of courage within herself, just enough to dare to speak up. Straightening and taking a deep breath to calm herself, she was about to say something when the Riddler spoke again.

"I know why…" he whispered slyly, but loud enough for everyone to hear him.

"Saving the city was simply a question of money, and this…saving these people, is a question of everything but. Courage, spirit, mind…all the things that you seem to lack…"

"I'll do it."

The words had come out stronger than she had expected them to, and now that everyone turned to look at her, and the crowd parted in front of her, she instantly wished she could take them back. But she didn't. Instead she took one hesitant step forward, then defiantly fixed her eyes on the Riddler and began walking steadily towards him until she was less than an arm's length away.

"I'll do it. Now let these people go."

Bruce Wayne had slipped away unnoticed in the commotion and disappeared. In his place was now a creature of shadow, sitting crouched on a beam high above. He had watched the whole spectacle from this view, waiting for the right time to act. Connie Tate had done what both he and the Riddler had anticipated. Although he thought it a foolish thing to do, he also felt a sense of admiration towards her. Where she stood now, she reminded him of the one he couldn't save – Rachel. It still stung deep in his heart when he thought about her, though he never admitted it to a living soul.

Below, Connie Tate and Edward Nashton still stood face to face, and the room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

"It's me you want. Let these people go, they have no part in your game."

He smiled, and leaned in, locking eyes with her from behind the mask, whispering;

"Oh, you are wrong my dear. These people have everything to do with my game. How could I play without pieces…? But you…you are the real jewel. This game would be nothing if you hadn't begun to play it with me."

He stepped back and snapped his fingers, a move that made the fourteen black-clad men step back from their hostages. Still, no one of the hostages moved.

He stepped around her, and gestured towards the black hole in the stone wall.

"Now, my dear, it is your turn."

He tipped his hat as she slowly began to walk. She heard nothing except the sound of her own beating heart, and the sharp sounds of her high heels on the stone floor. She had a distinct feeling that she might be walking towards her own doom, though she clung to the hope that there was a chance she could get out on the other side. Just as she was about to step into the darkness, she turned to look back. The Riddler still stood, leaning easily on his cane, watching her intently, and so did everyone else in the room, though she could see from their faces that they all thought 'Thank God it's not me'.

She saw him a split second before everyone else, just as he launched himself from someplace high above, and came gliding down over the crowd. What happened next seemed to her to take place in slow motion. She saw the Riddler spin around, and she thought she saw a menacing smile appear on his lips just before his face disappeared from view. Next, she saw Batman reach down to grab a hold of the Riddler, but just as he did so the Riddler rammed his cane into the floor, making part of it instantly crumble beneath him, and disappeared down into the darkness below.

Batman instantly adjusted, correcting the angle of his body to prolong his flight with a few more meters, and crashed into her, sending them both stumbling into the Riddler's labyrinth.

* * *

When she was pushed into the dark of the tunnel she lost her balance, and fell down face first landing hard on the stone. Gasping for breath she felt around, before a steady hand grabbed her and pulled her to her feet.

"Nice timing. You couldn't have come _before _I volunteered to walk into a crazy guy's self-designed death trap?"

Three LED lights flared, illuminating her, and she saw that two of them came from his cowl, and the third was a flashlight which he handed to her.

"I don't fit in at fundraisers. And you had a choice."

"In case you hadn't noticed, neither did I. Not that it matters now, anyway. And some choice, by the way; keep my mouth shut and fourteen people end up with their throats slit? I don't think so…"

She shone her flashlight around, and saw that they were in one end of a narrow corridor, meticulously carved out in stone.

"What is this place? There's no way he could have someone make this just to play us, it had to be her already. Which means that he also had to know that this was here…"

She looked around again.

"Wow…this guy's not subtle, is he? You know, this is starting to really scare me…not just the 'jump into an aquarium containing a shark and run halfway across town with the taste of blood in your mouth' – adrenaline rush. I'm really starting to feel like he's got it in for me."

"He has an obsession with you. He needs you for his game to keep having the desired effect. I doubt he would hurt you."

"Thanks, I feel so much better now," she said sarcastically.

Tentatively, she began walking down the narrow corridor, and silently he followed.

"What do you suppose he wants us to do?"

"Follow his trail. I suspect he's waiting for us, somewhere in the center of the maze."

"Oh, great."

The corridor continued for about thirty feet, before it turned into a steep set of stairs leading upwards.

"I thought you said he was somewhere down here. Why are we going up?"

"Finding the center of a maze is rarely straightforward," the growling voice said from behind her.

The stairway, like the corridor, was so narrow that Connie constantly felt like her shoulders were brushing against the stone. She could only imagine what it felt like for him, being considerably more broad-shouldered than her, though he seemed to have no problem moving because he stayed right behind her until the narrow stairway broadened into another corridor.

Unlike the first one, in which the air had been dry and heavy with dust, this corridor was draughty and cold and Connie realized that it was because one side of it was partially open to the outside. They had to be near the very top of the opera, just under the domed roof. Through the slits in the stone she could glimpse the city at night, but for once she said nothing of how beautiful she thought the sight was. It was hardly something to strike up conversation about at a time like this, and the one she was there with would probably not share her opinion anyway.

Suddenly she felt herself being pulled back and slammed into the wall on the opposite side. She gasped for breath as two arms blocked her escape in either direction, and he pressed up against her so hard that it felt like she was being crushed between two blocks of stone. Only as she saw a sharp, blueish light shine through the slits on the other side of the corridor, she understood, and the words he growled down into her hair suddenly seemed unnecessary.

"The police are here."

Now her ears picked up the roaring sound of the police helicopter soaring overhead, and she remained still as if she had frozen on the spot, barely daring to breathe until the sound abated, and his arms widened around her to disappear completely moments later.

"Who do you think they're looking for, him or you?"

She snuck over to the other side of the corridor and peered out through one of the slits. She saw not only the police helicopter, but also at least half a dozen marked squad cars on the street below, along with some unmarked vehicles that she assumed also belonged to the police. From behind her, Batman answered her question;

"It could be both. Regardless they will probably assume that you were kidnapped, either by Edward Nashton, or by me."

"Technically, they would be right…"

Their eyes met, and she had the feeling that if she could have seen his features she would have seen at least one eyebrow raised at her comment. She shrugged it off, and continued to walk, not really knowing where she was going, just that it felt more calming to be in motion than to stand still.

Regardless of how comforting it felt to walk, after a couple of paces Connie saw something in front of her that made her freeze. It wasn't that the sight was particularly terrifying, it was just unexpected.

Situated directly in front of her on the floor of the corridor was a gift box, wrapped in green velvet and tied with black ribbon. The steps that had echoed behind her halted, which she took to mean that he had seen it too. For a while, neither of them moved or said anything, but she got the distinct feeling that he was waiting for her to make the next move. Hesitantly, she stepped forwards and crouched down in front of the box, and after one deep breath and one swift motion of her hands, she had taken the lid off and discovered that what was inside fit perfectly with the Riddler's theme.

"It's a puzzle box." She said, half in amazement because she had actually been the first to recognize one of the Riddler's games.

She picked it up, and shone her flashlight on it. It felt heavy in her hand, and she realized that it was probably due to the fact that it was largely made out of ebony. The motif was in black and white and pictured a geisha kneeling, her fan held in a shielding position in front of her.

"I think boxes like these originated in Japan. This one looks like a custom job… Figuring one out is essentially a game of patience…It's just like figuring out a Rubik's Cube, there's always a pattern, and when you find it you can crack it in seconds. All we need to do is figure out which parts that move, and in which order they move…I just hope there aren't too many of them. I read somewhere that the most complex puzzle box ever built had over one hundred moves that were needed to open it, and if that's the case with this one, we're going to be here a while."

"You seem to know a lot about these puzzles," he remarked from behind her. She turned halfway and looked at him.

"I know a little. My father made a few for my birthdays when I was younger. I suspect it was one of his favorite things to watch me struggle to crack them. Imagine the frustration of a young girl, knowing her present or the next clue in the treasure hunt leading to her present was in one of these…But I suppose I took away some extra patience and persistence from it."

_Undoubtedly_, he thought to himself, but said nothing. Instead he watched as she started to examine the box closer, testing various pieces in the mosaic to see if they could be moved or manipulated in any way. It didn't take her long to find three parts that moved dependent on each other and from there the path to finding the two remaining moves was short.

"Not bad." He praised her when the lid of the puzzle box slid open. She shrugged, but sent him a careful smile, and replied;

"Thanks. It wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. But I'll bet you there are more of these lying around here somewhere."

He watched as she pulled the contents out of the box, and held one item in each hand.

"Ok, the key I can sort of understand, considering the guy we're dealing with," she began, referring to a rather large, old fashioned key that seemed to be made out of bronze.

"But a light bulb? You've got to be kidding me…" she exclaimed, slightly crestfallen judging from the look on her face.

At first he shared her amazement. The presentation was undoubtedly odd, but he could deduct two logical ways for the light bulb and the key to be connected. One was that the light bulb pointed to the location of a new puzzle box, perhaps containing another key. This was corroborated by the fact that, despite them being in a corridor on the outside of the building, they had to be just above the chandelier. His other theory was a bit more sublime, but would undoubtedly be bad news for both him and Connie if it proved to be correct.

"He's pointing us towards the next location he wants us to go," he said, and a hand gesture towards the inner wall of the corridor made her come to the same realization. A look was enough to make them understand each other, and they set off along the corridor once again, moving close to the inner wall to avoid being seen by the eyes in the sky outside.

The corridor led them to a small wooden door, so small that both Connie and Batman had to bend low to avoid banging their heads. They entered another corridor, just as narrow as the first one, but this one ran in a circle all along the top of the main stage hall and was alternately concealed by parts of the paintings decorating the ceiling and open to the main hall. Along the banister, running the full length of the corridor, but running on the outside of the paintings, was a series of orb-shaped lamps, which meant that the corridor alternated between being fairly well lit, and in complete darkness.

While they were making their way through one of the darkened parts, Connie once again felt herself being pulled into a tight grip by Batman. He came from behind her, and swiftly grabbed the hand she used to hold the flashlight, quickly extinguishing it with the push of a button. This time she didn't need to turn around and ask what on earth was going on, because they were near enough to the light that she could glimpse the black-clad police officers on the floor below. Now that she focused she could hear the static of walkie-talkies, and the echo of heavy boots, and even if she had wanted to, she could not have moved.

Without a word being exchanged between them, he loosened his grip. It was as if he knew that she wouldn't move. She had noticed it before, this strange kind of understanding that seemed to flow between them at moments like this, and although it was intuitive at best it gave her an equally strange sense of security. Her brain realized that a SWAT-team from GCPD had entered the building, and was probably looking for them, but as she stood there, completely still, so close to him she could feel his breath on her skin, she wasn't afraid.

Again, she could hear the faint static of a walkie-talkie, interrupted by the metallic sound of a man's voice saying;

"All clear."

He watched intently as the black-clad men retreated, and noted that although he had loosened his grip on the woman in front of him, she remained completely still. Only her eyes moved, he could see that from out of the corner of his own. Even after he was sure that the SWAT team had departed the main stage hall he waited an additional minute before taking a step forward. He brought a hand carefully to her shoulder, and felt her draw that sudden first breath of someone who had stood frozen in fright before realizing that the immediate danger was over. He let his hand rest on her shoulder, and she turned her head and looked at him. He could see that she wanted to smile, in a sort of silent thank you, but he also saw that she wasn't sure if she should. It was the effect of his mask. He'd seen it before sometimes, in that moment when his eyes met those of the innocent people he protected, usually just before the police arrived and he was forced to flee back into the shadows where he belonged. But this time it was somehow different, he'd usually managed to keep a distance between himself and the people of the city he had sworn to protect. He was adamant that The Joker, and everything that had surrounded him, should be the only exception. The Joker had cost him more than he ever thought he could afford to lose, and there was a part of him that would never recover. Still, he was aware that if he did not watch out, the distance between him and this young woman could rapidly decrease. She had traces of what he had admired about Rachel, but there was so much more…

She broke their eye contact first, and hesitantly began to walk along the corridor again. Weary that there might still be members of law enforcement around, she moved into the light. He followed one step behind, quickly casting aside any dark thoughts that threatened to take hold of his mind and focusing again on the task at hand.

They had moved about a quarter of the way around the circular walkway when she suddenly stopped, making him do the same. Her eyes were on the massive chandelier, hanging in the middle of the room, a few feet below them. She pointed, and following her outstretched arm with his gaze he too saw the red gift box with a silver bow tied around it, perfectly balanced between two rows of light bulbs.

Connie surveyed the chandelier, and without thinking adopted the same posture she used when facing a problem in her work; hands resting easily on her hips, and her head cocked slightly to one side. She sent him a sideways glance that could not be described as anything other than wicked. Not in a cruel sense, but sharp, and alive, and slightly mischievous. She hesitated a moment before she said;

"I think I'm going to let you get this one…"

"Really? You trust me now?"

She leaned over the railing and peered down into the hall below before she looked back to him.

"Just because I'm scared that Riddler has got it in for me, doesn't mean I plan to make it easy for him and commit suicide. Flying is your thing, not mine."

The leap from the walkway to the chandelier could hardly be considered flight, just a short glide. It took only a minute before he stood balancing on the railing in front of her, handing her the box. She opened it to find another puzzle box, and inside that - another key, equal to the first one in appearance, and a miniature dress that looked like it could be made for a doll.

"What do you think? Costume Department next?" Connie asked, but she moved along without waiting for an answer, which was just as well, because she would probably not have gotten one. He found that his silence was often confirmation enough, even if he realized that it could make him seem arrogant, and knew that it often made his allies, namely Commissioner Gordon, want to use brute force to get at his thoughts.

The hunt for keys kept them moving through the shadows until they had made their way from the highest point to the lowest cellar, stopping every now and then to avoid detection by the police. From the Costume Department the path of puzzles led them down to the space below the stage, and further down into the cellars before the last box led them to a circular chamber. They came in through one of several archways and discovered to their surprise that the chamber was lit by many candles. Batman was the one to crack the final box open and retrieve the final key. This left them with a collection of six keys total, they now carried three each, but were still none the wiser as to what they were to be used for.

Batman surveyed her, and could see in her eyes that this – running from the police, hiding in the shadows, had put a strain on her, even though she was not keen on letting it show. He hoped they could get out of there soon, preferably unscathed… He hoped, for her sake, that this game would soon end. But a part of him, the part that roamed the city at night, knew that the game would only end when Edward Nashton was caught and put behind bars somewhere he couldn't hurt innocent people with his twisted games. And he knew that he had to find a way to put him there, but so far a good solution had eluded him. Edward Nashton was annoyingly good at not leaving a trace that could be followed for any length of time, and his evasiveness was getting frustrating.

Connie looked around in wonder, turning on the spot in order to see all the way around the chamber. Her voice was hesitant, as if she came to some realization as she looked around.

"This looks like some sort of arena…you don't think he's got some kind of gladiatorial games planned?"

Connie realized that she sounded shocked, and almost despite herself she was. She had thought she had a certain idea about the Riddler and the games he played, only to now realize that her ideas were merely simple assumptions, and that she had failed to grasp the full extent of his abilities.

Batman didn't answer. Gladiatorial games didn't seem quite like Edward Nashton's style to him. Too many variables to consider, making it less fun for him to watch. But something was undoubtedly about to happen, he could detect a tension in the air that was unique to this, the deep breath before the plunge.

A deep, dark, unsettling sound confirmed that suspicion a moment after the thought had passed through his head. It was not the sound of the coming of a lion, or a gladiator, in fact he couldn't think of anything he had heard which made a sound like that. He watched his companion spin around and lock eyes with him, frantically searching for an answer or a kind of affirmation. She didn't have time to find either, because soon her attention was drawn elsewhere by the fact that the floor, or rather the stones making up the floor, had begun to move.


	10. The Devil In The Dark

**Disclaimer: **Batman and all other related characters are the property of DC Comics, with the movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's Note:** A relatively quick update for once, who would have thought? Don't get too excited though, because this will likely be the last update for at least a few weeks. If it's any comfort, it's not by choice but out of necessity. I have a rather large school essay that I've been alternately delaying and ignoring for way too long now, and I have a feeling that it's coming back to bite me. It's due by the end of March, and I really do have to re-prioritize and get to work on it now. Sorry guys…I promise I'll come back strong when the assignment is handed in! As always, I love your reviews, and I hope you won't hesitate to leave one – I could certainly use the encouragement right about now.  
_Edit: Come on guys - three days since I updated, I practically beg you for feedback, and I got only one review?! What happened to all the great feedback you've been giving me on the previous chapters?_ - Sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest...that bloody school essay is getting to me.

* * *

Once again Connie got the feeling that her mind and body were working independently of each other. Her body moved, avoiding the holes that were steadily appearing in the floor, while her mind seemed preoccupied with thinking that this was way too bizarre to actually be happening. Floors were simply not meant to disappear. But this one did, regardless of precedence or proper etiquette for floors. After a moment or so of leaping from stone to stone to avoid the steadily increasing number of black holes, Connie's brain again merged with her body, and she cursed intently. This was swiftly turning into another one of those 'try very hard not to get yourself killed' nights.

She leapt into one of the archways, thinking she would be safer there, but discovered to her surprise that beyond the archways and the candles placed just inside to enlighten them, there was nothing but solid, jagged rock. Turning back, she saw him land just inside the archway, and simply said;

"Dead end."

He nodded once, and replied with equal candor.

"The same with the others."

She stepped towards him and peered over his shoulder down into the space where the floor had once been.

"So…the only way forward is down there?"

"So it would seem."

"Oh God."

He stepped around her, first placing one hand on her shoulder and then another, until he stood behind her, and she stood looking down into the dark hole.

"I know you are frightened." He said calmly, while his grip tightened around her shoulders.

"But you need to trust me. Fear is nothing but the loss of control in the face of the unknown. If you find the ability within yourself to relinquish control, or if you know what you face, then fear is useless."

"I know what you're about to do, you're about to ask me to jump into dark hole, and because I realize that it might be the only way out I'll probably do it. But there is no way, _no way_ in hell that you are going to make me feel good about it."

"Fair enough," came the reply.

He shifted his weight forward, letting himself fall, taking her with him. She screamed, but he didn't give her the chance to fight him. He had anticipated another underground chamber, but was somewhat surprised when his sensors told him that he and his companion would be landing in water.

Connie, who had no high-tech gadgetry to rely on at the moment, was even more surprised when she felt the cold water envelop her, and had to fight the impulse to scream again. Now that she was in the water, her body adapted its reactions and without really meaning to, she kicked off her shoes and swam for the surface. When she emerged she discovered that her surroundings were now dimly lit, and she could make out the jagged rock above. But there was more.

From a plateau of sorts above them, she saw the faint outline of a person, seemingly looking down on them. She reached out and grabbed Batman's shoulder to make him aware of the shadowy figure. When he saw that he had the attention of both, the figure moved.

With a couple of jumpy steps, Edward Nashton moved closer to the light. He had discarded his mask, top hat and overcoat, and as he stood looking down on them he looked completely average. There was nothing particular about him that would stand out in a crowd. He wasn't really unfortunate looking, his hair was short cropped, and looked black in the dim light, his eyes likewise, his face was rather slim and his jaw angular. Good looking…but nothing special.

"Good evening," he began pleasantly, crouching down on the edge of the platform as if he was trying to get a better look at them both.

"So good that you both could join me. You see…I have a little…challenge for you. Actually, for you, it will be more a question of survival."

He paused, and surveyed them for another moment before continuing.

"You have undoubtedly observed that you are in a lake. You also probably know that water is an efficient conductor of electricity. If, in addition to this, you see the live wires that are scattered around you, that should be more than enough to realize you're both in deep trouble. Some might even say fatal…"

"As ever, I'm responsible for the one little glimmer of hope you have left. I've given you the keys. Below you are the boxes they open, and those boxes are your only way out. But, you'll have to figure out which key goes in which cabinet yourselves…"

He stood up, and his eyes were fixed on Connie. The light changed, making the wires he had mentioned stand out further. In addition, Connie now realized what he was standing on wasn't a platform, but an hourglass.

"And it's in your best interest to do it fast." He concluded, before stepping back into the darkness and disappearing from sight. Connie watched in horror as the hourglass tipped, and the sand started to pour from the top half to the bottom.

She had to fight the surge of panic that now threatened to consume her, and for a moment it was only the violent grip Batman took on one of her wrists that held her back. She turned her head sharply, and their eyes met.

"The keys are marked."

He held one up with his other hand, while he pulled her closer in an effort to get her to focus, and see. It took her a moment to do just that, but when he saw that she had her focus on him and not the time, he continued.

"There is a mark directly below the head. Can you see it?"

Connie had to fight to keep her mind focused. Her body was in survival mode, and not really in a position that allowed her to make use of her eyes coupled with the part of her brain that dealt with detail orientation. But after a few moments of vigorous concentration, she saw them, and when she did they seemed so obvious that she wondered why she hadn't noticed them from the start.

"They're letters from the Greek alphabet. You know what that looks like, right?"

That Connie knew, almost without thinking. After almost a decade of educating herself in various aspects of mathematics and engineering, and years filled with Lucius Fox's creative thoughts and the equally creative engineering acquired to suit them, she had an above average grasp of the Greek alphabet, if nothing else.

"Yeah, Alpha, Omega and all that…"

"Good. I have one Gamma, one Iota and one Mu."

She pulled out the three keys she had gathered from the puzzle boxes, and looked at each of them in turn.

"Alpha, Epsilon and Nu. What are you thinking, do we try them sequentially first?"

He didn't have to shake his head. The look he sent her, coupled with the definitive words;

"No time," settled the matter. But before she could utter a word of protest, he continued;

"The first letters spell a word we've come across before. I suggest we go with that…"

It took her a moment to come to the same conclusion he had reached in seconds. G, I, M, A, E, and N spelled out ENIGMA, a word that had been introduced into the game from the very beginning. She nodded quickly to show that she understood and agreed, and moving quickly they swapped some of the keys, leaving Connie with the E, N and I keys, while Batman dove to the bottom of the pool with the keys belonging to letters G, M and A.

Connie took a minute to get her breathing under control, and rearrange her grip so that she had the flashlight in one hand with the cord wrapped around her wrist so she wouldn't lose it in the murky water, and the keys in the other. Then she followed him below the surface.

She couldn't see anything at first. Even the sharp light from her flashlight seemed to fade, and the realization made her feel slightly claustrophobic, but she forced herself to keep swimming down. It turned out that the pool wasn't that deep, but it still took her a minute or so to locate the first box. She was relieved to find that the key fit in the lock without problem, and the fact that she could get the lid open told her that the box had to be filled with water from the start. It wasn't much of a comfort, but at least it meant that the solution the Riddler had offered them could prove legit, and that the boxes weren't just some unpleasant electrical surprise.

Inside the box was a simple lever, and Connie hurried to pull it down. She could hear the echo of a sound on the surface, not unlike the sound of the stones that had disappeared to leave them in this hole to begin with. But she didn't give herself time to wonder about what on earth was happening over her head. Instead she quickly began to search for the next box, praying that it would bring her that much closer to getting out alive.

Batman had moved faster, already having unlocked the three boxes he had the keys for, and pulling the levers found inside. He surfaced to see that only a third of the sand was left in the hourglass, but he also saw that the levers had triggered four round platforms at uneven intervals, leading upwards again. A fifth was triggered as he watched, meaning that she too had found two out of three. He contemplated diving back down to help her locate the last one, but decided against it. The water was murky and she would probably not see him coming, even with the help of the flashlight. He would only accomplish scaring her, and that was the last thing either of them needed right now.

He only watched as the sand continued to pour down into the bottom half of the hourglass, while he waited for her to ascend. He wasn't worried, thought he berated himself for the fact that she was there in the first place. He should have managed to shift the Riddler's attention onto himself somehow. But it was the Riddler who had picked her… He had not known of the Riddler's existence before he had stumbled upon her in that deserted church, and watched as she was subjected to the first of god knows how many trials at the hands of that man. As much as it hurt his pride to admit it, the Riddler had been in control of the game from the start, and he showed no signs of relinquishing it. He wasn't worried…

A familiar sound and movement above indicated that she had managed to locate and open the last box. A moment later she surfaced, breathing deeply but controlled. He didn't waste time, but took a firm grip on her with one hand, and his grapple gun with the other, swiftly launching them both into the air before landing steadily on the lowest platform. Just as their feet touched the stone, they heard a crackling noise, and the live wires fell into the water.

She was in his arms, so close he could feel the warmth of her breath on his cheek. It was the second time in a matter of hours that they had stood this close, and it was the second time in as many hours that he had to fight to keep his heart rate under control. She was drenched, and shivering with cold and fear, but utterly beautiful.

She caught his glance, and tried to smile. There was an enormous sense of relief apparent in her voice when she said;

"That was close…"

Once again, he let silence speak for him, but he moved his hands to her shoulders and pushed her gently about half a step away, his eyes searching for any sign of physical trauma. He saw nothing, but still asked;

"Are you alright?"

She looked up at him, then down at her own body. Though still shaken, she shrugged and nodded.

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm fine."

"Let's move. We have to get out of here."

He jumped easily onto the next platform, three feet or so above the one they had climbed up on to escape electrocution, and crouched down to pull her up after him. The jumps between the platforms became increasingly difficult to execute as they climbed higher, but eventually they could both climb into a doorway similar to the one they had entered through some hours earlier. They stood for a moment in the darkness, and although she couldn't see him as any more than an outline against the stone behind him, Connie could feel his eyes on her. Somehow she had started to get used to that feeling, and even took some comfort in it. To say that she felt safe would be an overstatement, considering how close she had just been to being electrocuted, but there was definitely a sense of reassurance in having him there with her.

They began to climb a staircase which led them even further upwards, and just when Connie was convinced that she wouldn't be able to take one more step they reached the top. A cold gust of air, made even colder by the fact that she was soaking wet, told her that an exit couldn't be far away. She turned out to be right, because a moment later they encountered a steel door, rusty almost to the point of disintegrating. Opening it was almost unnecessary, but as she was about to step outside a hand on her shoulder held her back.

"Careful." His rasping voice said, pointing to the ground outside being covered with dead leaves and rubbish.

"Bad idea to walk around in that barefoot." He pointed out, before he pushed past her and waded into the pool of filth himself. She saw now that they were at the abandoned entrance of an air vent or a drain of some sort, and that the grate above was the only thing that stood between them, and a darkened alleyway. It was hardly safe, but after an evening roaming the stale, narrow corridors of the Gotham Opera, even the air of a dark alley felt fresh. She watched as he loosened the grate and pushed it aside with ease, before returning to where she stood in the doorway.

Without saying a word he carefully placed both hands around her waist and lifted her into the air as if she weighed nothing. Almost as a reflex she placed both of her arms around his neck, and for a moment they stood like that, frozen. In that moment he looked up into her eyes, and thought he could see the stars reflected in those dark pools. He carried her across the small space, and carefully lifted her so she sat on the edge of the street above, before he jumped up after her.

Connie got up and surveyed her surroundings. She recognized the place from late night documentaries about the demise of Gotham City as where Thomas and Martha Wayne had been robbed and gunned down in front of their young son. She felt for Bruce Wayne, she really did, and if he had made any mention of what had happened when they'd talked earlier in the evening, she would have said as much. She knew what it felt like to lose someone that close…

Suddenly she heard the sound of running steps, and spun around to see two uniformed police officers coming towards them. Before she could react she felt herself being pulled up by an arm around her waist, and she realized that she was just then soaring out of reach of the two policemen. Her landing on the roof of the adjacent building wasn't anywhere near that graceful, but she managed to use her hands to break her fall, before gingerly getting to her feet. She barely had time to curse under her breath at the sudden flight and the stop following it, before his growling voice told her to keep moving.

She heard shouts coming from below, and ran, as well as she could in a dress, across the rooftop. For the briefest of moments she thought that running from the police was not a smart thing to do, she had more than enough trouble already. But the only one who had been able to help her so far was a man who was wanted, so perhaps she too had to walk that line, at least for a while. Not that it mattered how much she thought about it now, she had made the decision when she started her run across the rooftops with him, and she had made it without a thought.

Moving continuously across rooftops proved to be difficult, and it was not made easier by the fact that she wore a dress and was barefoot, but she knew she had to keep up, for his sake, if nothing else.

She couldn't guess how long they had been running, jumping and occasionally flying across and between rooftops when he finally slowed down and stopped. For a while they stood still, both trying to catch their breath and regain their composure. He succeeded first, and used the opportunity to watch her as she started to become more aware of her surroundings. He watched as she noticed the broken flood light, and moved slowly to inspect it. He saw the look on her face when she spotted the remnants of the bat-symbol that had once covered it, but now rightly looked as though someone had attacked it with a fire axe.

"We're on the roof of Major Case?" She asked incredulously, without expecting a reply.

"I didn't think this thing actually existed," she continued, referring to the flood light.

"I probably saw it a couple of times, but I just dismissed it as my brain being affected by an urban legend."

She paused, before asking another question.

"The cop you're involved with…is he with Major Case?"

Before he could answer, the door leading to the floors below opened carefully and another man stepped out onto the roof. Connie squinted, but had some difficulty seeing his features. His hair was dark, he wore glasses, but other than that, there was nothing about him that struck her as remarkable.

"I thought we agreed to find another place to meet."

"Sorry, but I had to move fast."

The newcomer spotted Connie, and his voice sounded with irritation when he continued;

"I also thought we agreed not to have company…we've tried that before."

He stepped closer, and Connie was now able to make out more of his features. When she finally realized who she now stood face to face with, she gasped, because she saw that it was none other than Police Commissioner James Gordon. If _this_ was Batman's one contact within the Police Department, it explained a lot, but not nearly everything.

"Bloody hell," she blurted out, before she could stop herself.

Batman completely ignored her, and instead said to Gordon.

"This is different."

Gordon nodded slightly, and his eyes were on Connie.

"You brought the kidnapping victim."

A gentle smile crossed his face when Gordon saw Connie's surprise.

"Recognized you from your personal effects. We took them from the Opera earlier… So, did this Riddler character kidnap you, or did he?" He asked, with a nod towards Batman.

"Neither," Connie said, still feeling stunned by the revelation that Batman was somehow tied to the Police Commissioner.

Gordon sighed.

"So, do either one of you plan on telling me what went on inside the Opera? I had SWAT teams in there searching for both of you, none of them turned up anything…"

"The Riddler sent us into a labyrinth, using himself as bait. He made sure to stay two steps ahead of us, probably hoping we would both die in the trap he set for us."

"Trap? What kind of trap? Nobody reported seeing anything out of the ordinary, except a weird guy in a top hat and the two of you disappearing."

"He had us follow his trail around various parts of the building, sneaking around to avoid your crews. The trail ended in an underground lake, a lake he had rigged with live wires and a timing device…"

"Good thing you work fast." Gordon concluded. It seemed that hearing about somewhat far-fetched crime-sprees without showing any signs of shock or surprise had become something of a habit.

Batman nodded grimly, before he said;

"I can give you the details later. Whatever details you can't get from her…"

He nodded towards Connie, who had stood silently listening to the foregoing conversation feeling more and more left out, but now reacted. She recognized the signs.

"Wait a second, you're just leaving me here?!?"

He turned to face her, for the first time since they had stood in the alley behind the Opera House.

"You're not safe with me." He said, his voice calm but firm.

"Newsflash!" Connie replied angrily, quickly continuing without giving him the chance to turn his back.

"When the hell am I going to get an explanation about what kind of game _you're_ playing, huh?!"

No answer. No surprise. In fact, Batman had at that moment found it wisest to conduct one of his many disappearances. Gordon looked at Connie with feeling, walked quietly up to her, placing an arm around her shoulders, beginning to lead her off the roof.

A few minutes later, Connie had begun what was to be hours spent in one of the interrogation rooms of the Major Case building. Gordon seemed sympathetic to what she had been through, but was adamant that she give all the details she could think of. She did, to the best of her ability, even if she thought it took ages. Then, when Gordon and one of his detectives were through with her, a woman from the FBI came in and began asking much the same questions as Gordon had already covered. Connie supposed that some of the repetitions were done to see if she answered consistently. That was the only explanation she could think of when forced to answer a question for the third time. She tried to keep her focus, although she found that very difficult to do at three o'clock in the morning, even more so after a night of navigating through caves and murky waters.

After a thorough, if repetitive interrogation she was brought down to a police sketch artist to try and describe the Riddler, aka Edward Nashton. That was much more difficult than answering questions, because he hadn't really had any features that had stood out to her down in the semi-dark cave. Everything about him seemed average and unremarkable, apart from his mind, which in comparison seemed extraordinary complex, not to mention twisted and obsessive. But that's not something that comes across on a police sketch…

It was Sunday morning before Connie Tate was returned the personal effects that had been collected from the Opera and cleared to leave the custody of Major Case. By that time she felt pretty much dead on her feet and could scarcely keep a thought in her head because every brain cell she had seemed to be screaming for sleep.

She practically stumbled through her front door, and gingerly made her way through the apartment to her bedroom. She was briefly grateful for having remembered to close the bedroom window before she left for the opera, while quickly undressing, leaving all her clothes in a heap on the floor. Still wet sequins were replaced with soft, dry cotton and she crept under the covers in her bed.

Sleep came easily, despite, or perhaps because of everything that had happened to her that night. She did not even notice the black shadow that was briefly reflected in the adjacent building before seemingly disappearing from sight.

Connie awoke late that afternoon, somewhat relieved to find that it was still Sunday. After a shower, clean clothes and some food she felt as back to normal as the circumstances allowed her to. The bare essentials out of the way, she headed for her favorite spot on the couch, laptop and cell phone in hand, to catch up on some communication with her friends, who had been staunchly de-prioritized ever since this Riddler business had entered her life. For a short while she wondered if she should be logging on to the internet at all. It would surely give Edward Nashton free access to all her info, but then again, he probably had that already. She discarded the thought and turned on the computer. Besides, she wasn't about to give up control of her life and hand it over to him that easily.

A while later, she got around to checking her voice mail, and discovered no less than five messages from Elizabeth Ripley, a close friend since the two of them had been in college together. She dialed the number, and didn't have to wait long for the reply.

"Hi, hon!" A cheerful voice sounded, closely followed by;

"About time you called, I was getting a bit worried here."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Liz…long night," Connie replied.

"Really? Do tell…" came the sly reply.

Connie shrugged.

"Not much to tell." She said evasively.

"Don't give me that! What was he like?"

"Who?"

"Oh come on…! Who do you think?!? A certain rich, handsome and very eligible bachelor by the name of Bruce Wayne, that's who!"

Connie sat up at the mention of the name, without really meaning to.

"What makes you think I was with Bruce Wayne last night…?" She responded, trying not to let anything revealing creep into her voice. On the other end she heard Elizabeth laugh.

"You were seen, my dear. Consider yourself the newest mystery of the Gotham Cable gossip pages, soon to be _all_ Gotham gossip columns…"

"Liz, if you had planned on making me fall for that, you should have planned better. Checked the date for one…It's December Liz, not April 1st."

"I'm not kidding, sugar. Check the Gotham Cable website if you don't believe me. You're under the 'lifestyle' section… Now, I demand you give me the juicy details I'm entitled to because of my role as your best friend. Spill it, girl – what's he like?"

Connie was silent, but was typing furiously on the keyboard of her computer with one hand. Within a minute she had accessed the website of the local news channel, Gotham Cable News, and proceeded to check the 'lifestyle' section. She was momentarily horrified to find that her friend was right. The headline read; _Billionaire Bruce Wayne's Mystery Brunette_, and it was followed by a grainy picture, obviously taken through a window, of her and Bruce Wayne sitting on a sofa in the Opera. She cursed silently.

"Jeez, Liz, that picture might as well have been taken from space, how can you be so sure that's me?"

"Easy, why else would you be so defensive, not to mention evasive? Besides, I've been your friend for ages; I could probably recognize you from space. Now, I'm not going to ask you again; Details, woman, details!"

Connie sighed, and decided it was probably best to admit defeat. If she insisted on continuing this, Elizabeth was crazy enough to call one of Gotham's numerous gossip magazines with an anonymous tip just to prove a point, and that would definitely do more harm than good for everyone involved.

"Okay, okay…but I'm telling the truth, there really isn't much to say. He was a consummate gentleman, polite, well-mannered, relaxed as opposed to what I was…"

"And every bit as stupid as they say?"

Connie thought for a moment, before saying;

"No, I don't think so…Or, I don't know, maybe he was just camouflaging his stupidity because I said I didn't want anything to do with him if he proved to be an idiot, but he didn't come across as stupid in my eyes. He was surprisingly funny actually, and as straightforward as I suppose you can expect these rich guys to be… Didn't really seem to care that I wasn't near his social class…"

"Nobody cares about that these days, Connie…"

"Not normal people, maybe, but these trust fund kids…You should have seen how some of them looked at me."

"They were probably stunned because you looked ten times better than them without even trying, and Bruce Wayne went straight for you."

"That wasn't funny," Connie said, but she smiled regardless.

"Yes it was. Especially if you two end up getting married, you become the queen of Gotham society and all of them discover that they're at your mercy."

On her end of the line, Connie couldn't speak for laughter, and it took several minutes before the conversation could continue.

"I had one drink with the man, Liz. On what planet, besides the one obviously existing inside your head, does that in any way signify that I'm going to marry the guy?!?"

Elizabeth was laughing too, but wasn't ready to let go of the news just yet.

"Look sugar, you might think you can just brush off your date with the hot billionaire, but I am not going to let you forget this easily…and my guess is that neither will the people you work with."

"Oh, great… Who needs enemies when they've got gossip hungry friends like you, Liz?" Connie said, trying to feign anger. She knew Elizabeth, knew she never meant harm, but hoped she would see a boundary somewhere and have the brain not to cross it. Connie immensely disliked the thought of having anything to do with the tabloids – even if it was only being the mystery woman on a grainy picture, and Elizabeth should definitely know as much. Perhaps that was why she found the whole business so incredibly funny in the first place.

"For your information though," Connie began, still hearing Elizabeth laugh on the other end,

"It wasn't a date!"


	11. Mind Games

**Disclaimer:** All recognisable Batman characters are the property of DC Comics and Warner Brothers. Only Connie Tate, the original character in this story, along with her family members and some of her friends and co-workers have been created by- and belong to me. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no profit is being made from the publication of this story.  
**Author's Note:** With the end of my Easter holiday approaching fast, I thought this a good time to post another chapter. I think this story is inevitably starting to move towards the end now, because things are starting to intensify and something has to happen to resolve things. I'm terrible at estimates, but I think that in maybe two or three more chapters I will have finished this story. I am thinking about a sequel, but it's still in very early planning stages, so any kind of feedback as to whether you think that sounds like a good idea or not is appreciated. So is any other form of feedback, as always. Me begging for reviews on the previous chapter didn't really work out that well, so I'll try to refrain from doing that again now. I will however, say that I appreciate all reviews I get, and all the people who write them, so please, if you're reading this story, don't be a stranger.

* * *

Monday morning at Wayne Enterprises was just like Monday morning at any other company in Gotham, times a hundred and contained in the city's most modern facilities. Connie still sometimes stopped and marveled at the sheer volume of people milling into the building at the start of the work day. That she had been lucky enough to get a leading position at a company that did so much, in so many ways for Gotham City made her feel fortunate. She had gotten decent grades in college and had never said 'no' to a job, whatever it was, after she graduated, but she knew of several people who hadn't gotten the opportunities she had, and because of that were forced to rethink their careers. Some days, like today, when the sheer size of what she was involved in struck her, she thought about that and smiled.

The smile lasted until she walked into the offices of the R&D Department and saw that practically every available surface had been plastered with print-outs of the Gotham Cable News article proclaiming the news of "_Billionaire Bruce Wayne's Mystery Brunette_". That, and the applause that followed wiped the smile from her face and instead made her shake her head in dismay.

"Oh, come on…!"

"Now hold on a minute," said a grinning Kevin Merrick,

"We're only saying a collective 'way to go' here… You've secured us the top spot on the priority list for next year's budget now, for sure. Who are we to criticize your methods? Though I must say, I think they're a little unconventional…"

He was about to say more, but before he could do so, Connie had picked up one of the print-out, curled it into a ball and thrown it at him, hitting him on the side of the head. When he turned to face her, her eyes locked with his, and she stepped forwards so that she stood right in front of him. Then, she said sweetly;

"Kevin…this is when I tell you, and all you other comedians," she paused and let her glance go from one to the other before turning it back on Kevin,

"That I have no qualms, not one, with assigning each and every one of you to redo the entire inventory if that's what it takes…"

"Connie, look…"

It was Charlotte Ryan, who had now obviously judged it to be the time when she should come one of her colleagues to the rescue.

"We're just kidding, honest… You know that Kevin doesn't know when to shut up; he didn't mean that you were doing anything…unethical. When it comes to integrity, you're practically a saint. We just thought it was fun because Abby stumbled over a woman from Personnel crying over a print-out from GCN in the bathroom earlier…"

Charlotte's voice trailed off, and she looked pleadingly at Connie, as if she was silently begging her to understand and not reassign all of them to doing inventory again.

Realizing that she was again the subject of a somewhat absurd situation, Connie shook her head, before saying with a badly concealed grin;

"Unethical? I can't believe you just used that word…"

Connie chuckled, and realizing that the danger was over, so did Charlotte, before replying;

"Neither can I."

As Kevin and some of the others joined in the laughter, Connie turned to Abby.

"You found a woman crying over one of these in the bathroom?" She asked skeptically, gesturing towards the veritable sea of print-outs that now flooded the office.

Abby nodded, and grinned.

"Yeah… I've seen her before too. I think she has a bit of an unhealthy fixation with Mr. Wayne, because every time there's something about him and some woman in a magazine, she's in the bathroom crying. Last week it was because of that young tennis player or whatever, and this week it's you."

"It's only Monday, Abby… by Friday I'll bet you it'll be because of somebody else."

Abby shrugged.

"Still, I'll never turn away a chance to laugh at how many strange people are down in Personnel…"

"Just don't laugh to loud, Abby, or you might not get paid," said Connie, before sighing and spreading her arms wide in an effort to silence her co-workers, who had now lapsed into conversation amongst themselves.

"Alright, everyone, listen up. Because of my infinite wisdom and good grace, I will not reassign all of you to do the inventory again…"

There were some cheers and a couple of people applauded again, but Connie raised her hands to show that she wasn't finished.

"However, under pain of death, you will all remove every single sheet of paper containing that bloody article, and you will do it _now_. The last thing I want is to have Mr. Fox, or Mr. Wayne, or both, walk in here when the entire office is covered with an article from the gossip columns. They might think we're all completely crazy."

Starting to pick up stray pieces of paper, Kevin Merrick winked at Connie and said under his breath;

"Not completely…not yet…"

Connie met his gaze and grinned.

* * *

Connie hadn't expected to run into Bruce Wayne again, but when she came back from lunch that day she heard a familiar voice call her name as she walked up the front steps of Wayne Enterprises.

"Connie!"

She turned, and saw him jog up the steps to reach her. He was impeccably dressed, as he had been every time she had seen him, and there was a pleasant smile on his face.

"Mr. Wayne…coming to check up on us?"

To her surprise, he sighed in mock resignation before sending her a searching sideways glance while falling into step beside her.

"You're back to 'Mr. Wayne' again… I thought I told you to call me Bruce."

She laughed, but stopped when she saw equal surprise on his face to the one she had exhibited moments earlier.

"You did…but as much as I enjoyed that meeting with you outside of work, it resulted in me being used as tabloid fodder. Now, I know that you're not one to shy away from any kind of attention from the press, but I prefer to keep well out of the way…"

"Hold on, what on earth are you talking about?"

"GCN labeled me your 'mystery brunette' on their website yesterday, and that resulted in my office being plastered with print-outs of that article, among other things. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd rather not repeat that."

He laughed, but it was more out of disbelief than anything else.

"And here I am, trying to apologize for losing you in the crowd and letting you get kidnapped Saturday night, and I find out I've got even more than that to apologize for…"

They had gotten to the top of the stairs, and now he stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her path.

"I'm sorry, for everything. I really am."

She shrugged, and smiled.

"Don't worry about it. It's as much my fault as yours. I just thought about you as a nice guy who asked me for a drink, not as a billionaire playboy…I forgot that's what you are, and that there are people trailing your every move."

Before he could say anything, she continued.

"I had a nice time with you Saturday, I did, honestly…But I think we should leave it at that and go back to the scenario where I'm an employee at your company. I fit much better in that role than the role of 'mystery brunette'."

With that, she brushed past him and continued into the building. The first thing that went through his head as he watched her walk away was that it had been a long time since he had been rejected by a woman, which explained why the whole scenario felt a bit unexpected. The second was that he should have checked the headlines before leaving the penthouse. Gossip wasn't normally on his radar, but he tried to maintain some grasp about what the media was saying about him, because, if nothing else, it contributed to the façade of the self-absorbed playboy. And the third was that without knowing it, Connie Tate had given him a compliment as good as anything he'd heard in a long time. It was a shame that she wasn't right in her assumption that he was 'just a nice guy'.

He somehow wished that apologizing to Connie could have been the only reason why he was at Wayne Enterprises that day, but regrettably it wasn't. The main reason was a far more sinister than that – The Riddler. It was high time to put a stop to Edward Nashton's game, but if he were to have any hope of doing that, he needed help. And when it came to technology, you couldn't get much better help than that of Lucius Fox.

Lucius' secretary was on the phone when he stepped into the front room of the office, but greeted him with a nod and gestured for him to move through. As he walked into the office, Lucius stood to greet him.

"Mr. Wayne. What can I do for you?"

"I need a way to trace someone electronically without them knowing about it."

"In that case I suggest we take this conversation somewhere else," Lucius said calmly, while gesturing towards the bookshelf that concealed the private elevator leading down to levels so deep in the building's structure that less than a handful of people knew about them.

Bruce nodded in agreement, and together the two of them got into the elevator. When the door had glided shut, Bruce spoke again.

"I think Edward Nashton is going after Connie…I need to stop him before he gets close enough to hurt her."

"Two questions come to mind," Lucius began,

"Who the hell is Edward Nashton, and what does he want with one of my engineers?"

"Edward Nashton is the real name of the Riddler, this city's most recent resident lunatic. I have no idea why he chose Connie in the first place, but by now I think he's beginning to become obsessed with her…she's slipped away from him twice, but I'm afraid she can only escape him for so long. Soon he's going to come up with some scenario where I can't help her…and I'd like to get to him before that happens."

Lucius' gaze met his, and Bruce saw sincere worry in the other's eyes. He knew Connie was more to Lucius than an employee. As far as he had gathered, Lucius had known Connie's father, but had lost contact with the family after the murder of Aaron Tate. A few years later Lucius had given a lecture at MIT and unexpectedly found himself lecturing to Aaron Tate's daughter, Connie. After that, the two of them had struck up a friendship, not to mention a sort of apprenticeship that had continued up until the moment Lucius had taken over the position of C.E.O at Wayne Enterprises.

"I think I might have something you could use…"

Bruce smiled. Lucius wasn't one to dwell on a problem, especially not if he thought he could solve it. Since he usually could, he sometimes gave off the impression that he never dwelt much on anything at all.

"It was actually one of Connie's crew that came up with it. A young fella named Ethan Clark. Not nearly as sociable as Connie, but clever as hell. It's just a prototype though, so it might need a bit of tweaking to get it to work, but it was built for military intelligence so it's virtually impossible to discover and delete. After all the news about the computer genius of this Riddler character, I assume that's your primary concern."

"You assume correctly." Bruce assured him.

"Forgive me for asking, Mr. Wayne, but the news said that the FBI has been called in. Why not let them track this guy?"

"Because although they may have identified him, I doubt they have a full grasp of what Edward Nashton is capable of… And I don't think there's enough time to let them find out…not without risking at least one life."

"And you're not willing to let them do that?"

Bruce shook his head and said grimly;

"No. Not when that one life is one I've taken on responsibility for. Enough lives have been risked on my account already…"

"You're talking about Connie?"

Bruce nodded, and Lucius shot him a sideways glance.

"Rachel Dawes died at the hands of a madman who terrorized the entire city. Connie is not like Rachel…I'd keep that in mind if I were you, Mr. Wayne."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"That keeping Connie alive won't bring Rachel back. I'm not saying you shouldn't go through with this, because God knows I care for that girl, but don't do it under the delusion that this is your second chance to save Rachel."

"I won't"

He said it with conviction, but deep within him he knew that Lucius had touched upon a nerve. He couldn't deny that some part of his involvement was brought about because he saw a resemblance between the love he had lost and the woman who now stood in the center of Edward Nashton's potentially lethal attentions. Rachel had been strong willed and strong minded, but like him she had taken on a lot of responsibility through her job. She had never laughed easily and rarely smiled. Connie shared the traits of a strong will and a strong mind, but in addition she possessed what could only be described as a childish curiosity about everyone and everything, she laughed freely and smiled often. Despite being brought up in Gotham and having experienced the loss of a parent, she seemed determined not to be brought down by that misfortune. Instead she seemed determined to lift herself up, along with everyone around her, by the force of a cheerful disposition alone. What struck him as even more amazing – it seemed to work.

"Here we are," Lucius said, unlocking a stainless steel cabinet and pulling out a drawer filled with a wide assortment of CD and DVD discs in jewel cases. He flipped through some of them before pulling out a crimson red case with a white label along the back.

"Ethan's sense of humor." Lucius said simply, nodding towards the bright red jewel case.

They moved to a nearby computer and Lucius put the disc in the drive and pulled up the program interface. Bruce looked over his shoulder and read;

"S.T.E.A.L.T.H…?"

Lucius shrugged.

"He had some kind of fancy explanation about what it all stood for, but I can't remember what it was all about."

He paused for a moment before continuing.

"Like I said, I might need to tweak it a little bit to get it to work properly, but essentially what this program does is to camouflage itself in a space less than one pixel in width, and when someone accesses that page it allows you to trace the IP address to a location."

"And you can place this in any kind of software?"

"In anything that shows up on a screen."

"Ok. I need you to get it up and running, and put it into any and all files you have pertaining to Connie Tate; he's hacked into them before. Let's hope he goes back to double check something before he makes another attempt to get her killed."

Lucius nodded solemnly, and said;

"I'll give you a call when it's done."

"Thank you."

The thought that he had done all he could did not satisfy Bruce at all when he walked out of the Wayne Enterprises building, it wasn't even much of a comfort. Somehow there had to be something else, something more he could do to keep Connie Tate from getting into harm's way again. But what?

When he got back to the penthouse he walked straight to the spacious study which occupied a large part of the second storey. For the first time in quite a while he began to scan through his case file with no clear aim. He pulled up police reports from the Aquarium and the Opera, the FBI profile on Edward Nashton, and Connie Tate's employee file with Wayne Enterprises, and no new information revealed itself to him. He would never admit defeat, but now he was forced to admit a growing frustration with Edward Nashton. The man was nothing short of excellent at covering his tracks.

_Patience,_ he thought to himself.

_Patience._

No criminal remains flawless forever…sooner or later they get arrogant and overconfident, and then they start to get careless. The problem he still faced was that there simply wasn't time to wait. Edward Nashton probably already had another plan in the works, and he needed to be stopped.

"Do you plan on eating anything tonight, or should I just throw away the result of my hard labour over pots and pans in the kitchen?"

Bruce turned sharply at the sudden interruption, only to see the well known silhouette of Alfred standing behind him. Now that his presence was revealed, the butler stepped closer, peering at the screen and the contents which his master had been so absorbed in.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. What time is it?" Bruce pushed himself away from the desk and stretched.

"Nine thirty, Sir. Dinner was ready at seven."

"I'm sorry," Bruce repeated, before he continued;

"I got distracted."

"Apparently so, Sir." Alfred replied, smiling, before nodding towards the computer screen.

On the screen were Connie Tate's employee records, along with several captions of her taken from the Wayne Enterprises security cameras. Bruce turned back to the screen briefly, saw what Alfred was smiling at, and turned back to face him with a frown appearing on his face.

"Alfred, the tabloids make enough effort to play matchmaker for me, I pretty sure they don't need your help. I certainly don't."

Alfred merely chuckled at the reprimand and good naturedly replied;

"I assure you, Master Wayne, I have no cause to play matchmaker. I was merely remarking that a man could easily lose track of time while looking at photos containing such a beautiful subject."

Bruce laughed disbelievingly.

"Oh, I'm sure you were, Alfred. I'm sure you were…"

"But now you have given me cause to wonder… What exactly is your relationship with Miss Tate?"

Bruce sighed, and looked from Alfred to the computer screen and back.

"There is no relationship, Alfred. Unless you count how I'm trying to think of a way not to let her get killed by a mystery loving computer geek who has fixated on her…"

Alfred was silent for a moment, before he quietly said;

"Be careful, Master Wayne."

Bruce raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Careful? Lucius said something similar earlier today, why are you two so worried about what I'm doing all of a sudden?"

"I'm always worried, Sir. You walk the edge of a dark abyss almost every night, and every time you come back I thank a higher power that you haven't fallen off that edge. Rachel's death was a hard blow, and I know how you must wish that you could take back time and save her…"

There was a pause, and Bruce felt the prickling of tears forming in his eyes as Alfred said her name. As he looked up, he could see that the same was apparently true for Alfred himself. A moment went by where neither of them said anything, but then Bruce stood and faced his butler, and there was a silent plea for guidance in his eyes that only the old man could notice.

"What do you want me to do, Alfred?"

To Bruce's surprise, Alfred smiled, and placed a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder.

"I know you feel responsible for this girl, Master Wayne, and I would think you a stranger if you didn't. But I ask this of you; When you find the means by which to save her, save her for the woman she is…not for the woman you wish she could have been."

"You still haven't given up on me, Alfred?"

"Never."

* * *

As Alfred walked away, Bruce turned to look on last time at an image on the computer screen. It was a still frame from a security camera, picturing Connie Tate turning to glance over her shoulder, obviously because someone she knew had just passed her. She was smiling, and wisps of her hair were framing her face. That imaged followed him as he made up his mind to tap her phone. He knew Lucius would have objected, and this time he was even unsure himself if it was the right decision. He really had no desire to invade this woman's privacy in such a way, but it was a last resort. If Edward Nashton called her, he could try and trace the call, and if he, god forbid, should try to abduct her when neither Bruce Wayne nor Batman could come to the rescue, it might give a clue to where he was taking her. The thoughts raced through his head as he set up the wire tap, but even though he thought it justified, he couldn't escape what still chipped away at his conscience.

Later that night, Batman was on the prowl again, and this night he had something very specific on his agenda – warn Connie Tate. He knew that through Batman he might have a chance at convincing her of the danger, but a part of him feared that she still wouldn't listen.

Connie was blissfully unaware about any plans concerning her that night. She was far too busy enjoying herself at a concert and the following trip to a local bar with some of her friends. For her it was a welcome distraction from everything to do with riddles and death traps, and for a few hours she managed to forget all about it.

The shadowy figure that seemed to follow her from above had not forgotten. He kept an eagle eye out for everything that surrounded her. He saw how one of her friends put an arm around her shoulders and offered to follow her home and intensely hoped she would take him up on the offer. But he also watched as she shook her head and smiled, waving away all concern uttered by her friends and began the journey home on her own. He followed her until she was a walking through a darkened part of the street a few yards from her front door, then he deemed the time ready to try and warn her against what probably was coming, and maybe scare her into realizing the danger.

He landed on the asphalt in front of her, intent on watching her reaction. His entrance had the desired effect; she jumped and clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a scream.

"Jesus… Are you trying to give me a heart attack or something?!?"

"I'm _trying_ to make you realize that the streets of this city are dangerous after dark."

"No kidding…"

"You seem remarkably careless for a woman who narrowly escaped electrocution a few nights ago."

"The entire police force is after you, and you're standing there lecturing me about carelessness… You've got a lot of nerve, I'll give you that."

"He won't give up…He's going to try again, and when he does, I might not be able to help you…"

She stepped towards him, until she was close enough to reach out and touch him if she wanted to. Her voice changed from irritation to a calm explanation.

"If you think that I'm not scared of this man, then you're wrong. And I appreciate your concern. But it's my life you're talking about, there's no button I can push to make it stop, and I refuse to let some guy who's too scared to show me his face frighten me into locking myself in my apartment until the roof collapses on my head."

_Why did this woman always insist on arguing with him?!? And worse…why did her arguments have to make sense?_

"Just…be careful."

Before she could reply he jumped from the curb and disappeared in the darkness above, but not before he heard her say a faint reply to the darkness.

"I will…"

When Connie let herself into her apartment moments later she was deep in thought. For how could she be careful when the man who was after her was still little more than a ghost? She didn't even really know what his face looked like, but she was sure she could recognize his voice. Still, that wasn't much to go on. She hadn't heard anything more from the police or the FBI, and the Batman seemed to be the only one who believed her to be in some kind of immediate danger. But what else could she really do than go on with her life as she normally would and hope for the best?

During the next morning's commute she contemplated further the strange turn her life had taken lately. A part of her desperately wanted it to end, and didn't really care if it ended one way or another. She was sick and tired of being scared every hour of every day, and just as tired of camouflaging it for her colleagues and family. Her brother and her mother had both started to ask questions about what she'd been working on since she had become so jumpy lately. She had laughed it off as best she could, and joked about it being matters related to national security, but hadn't mentioned one word about the fact that it was her who had become involved in the Riddler's sick game. She didn't want them to be as scared as she felt. Another part of her seemed to have awoken by the thrill, the danger of it all, all the while swearing that she wouldn't give in to the mind games of a coward who lived through a screen.

She arrived at the office to find it completely free of posters made from the gossip pages and her colleagues all busy. She exchanged a few brief 'good morning's, before settling down at her own desk. Simon the robot shuffled over to her as if to wish her 'good morning' too, but she only smiled and turned him around, making him walk the other way, while mumbling a tired;

"Sorry, Simon. I'm busy."

Her cell phone rang, and she picked it up and pressed the call button without looking at the display.

"Tate."

"Hello, darling." Said the voice on the other end, and it was a voice she instantly recognized and which sent shivers down her spine. She froze, and if she had planned any kind of response it was gone from her mind now.

"Don't worry dear, there's no cause for alarm…Not yet, anyway. Right now, I just need you to do one thing…"

Connie's voice was no more than a terrified whisper when she answered.

"Yes?"

"Look around you, Constance."

Connie glanced around the room, looking for anything out of the ordinary, but she didn't see anything.

"And?"

There was an unpleasant chuckle on the other end of the line, before the reply came.

"I'm almost ready to play you another round. I realize that after our last encounter you might be…reluctant to play me again. I understand completely. However, I can't have you backing out now. So, I've devised a little leverage which I think should be both simple and effective…Look around you, Connie. Should you refuse to play the game, your colleagues are all as good as dead."


	12. Pick Your Poison

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all other recognisable characters are the property of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. No copyright infringement is in any way intended, and no money is being made from the publication of this story. The character of Connie Tate, as well as those of some of her friends and co-workers, are my creation and belong to me.  
**Author's Notes:** It took me a while, and a couple of re-writes to get this chapter the way I wanted it, but now I'm pretty happy with it, so hopefully you will be too. Can't say for sure when I'll update next, because my exams are coming up soon, but since my job for this summer seems like it could fall through, it's likely that I'll end up with a lot of free time on my hands after my exams. I've begun to plan the sequel, so if you've got any suggestions, feel free to send them my way. I'm not promising I'll include them, but I'd like to hear what you think, and who and what you'd like to see. And finally (and I can never stress this enough), please leave a review! Please? It's the only indication I get (apart from my own views, obviously) on whether or not I'm doing something right or wrong, so it's really appreciated.

* * *

A hand on her shoulder made her jump, and she realized she was still holding the phone to her ear. She spun around and saw Ethan. He looked down on her, one eyebrow raised in a question and a curious look in his eyes.

"You okay? You look kinda spooked…"

Slightly embarrassed Connie lowered the hand holding the phone and smiled quickly back at him.

"Yeah, I'm fine…It's just some idiot who's playing phone pranks on me."

In an unsuspected, cheerful gesture, Ethan patted her on the shoulder and flashed a surprisingly confident smile.

"Yeah, some people have a sense of humor that's a bit out there. Just ignore it, when he gets that you don't care one way or another, he'll stop. "

"Yeah, I guess…"

Connie's voice when she replied was only a faint echo of her usual confident tone, but Ethan didn't seem to notice. He was already on his way away from her, all the while Connie's head was echoing with the threat she had heard only a moment earlier. The feeling of fear that crept up on her began to feel uncomfortably familiar by now, and yet there was little doubt in her mind as to what she needed to do.

_Whatever it takes. I will not let these people die because I'm too curious for my own good._

Her mind repeated the thought furiously, over and over again, until the sensation of fear had numbed slightly. She still wasn't confident that she could do what was necessary, but she was adamant that she would push herself as far as she could not to give up the fight.

* * *

Bruce Wayne had just punched his fist halfway through a very rare, very expensive mahogany desk, and was fighting the urge to scream. A few minutes earlier he had heard and recorded the Riddler threatening Connie Tate, and now his frustration stemmed from the fact that the prototype tracking software he had borrowed from Wayne Enterprises could only give him a general search area covering most of uptown Gotham. And that was not enough to track the Riddler… Connie Tate was dangerously close now to being put on the path leading to her own death, and it was a path she could risk walking far too early. And there was nothing he could do to prevent it. He could hope, of course, that Connie would refuse to play, that she thought her own life too precious to risk, but he already knew that it would be a futile hope. That kind of cowardice just wasn't in her personality. It wasn't so much that she was braver than everyone else; it was just the refusal on her part to view her own life as being worth more than anyone else's. She wouldn't let her colleagues die in her place, and he knew it. But he still couldn't save her.

Alfred appeared in the doorway, probably alarmed by the sound of hardwood cracking. Now he walked carefully up to his master.

"Is there a problem, Master Wayne?"

It was apparent in his tone that the question wasn't meant to be interpreted literally. Alfred knew very well that such a violent reaction from his master usually meant there was a problem of some sort, but his manners and awareness of the boundary that was between them, the one that was sometimes blurred but never crossed, prevented him from asking the more common 'what's wrong?'.

Bruce turned his head and looked at him, his hand still firmly planted among the splinters, a look of mixed despair, frustration and hopeless laughter on his face. Then, when he couldn't bring himself to take the anger he felt out on the man who in many ways was his only family, he took a deep, shivering breath and straightened, pulling his hand out of the crater it had made in the desk in the process.

"The only problem is that right now I want nothing more than to bring Edward Nashton to justice, but I have no idea how. Getting to know Connie was a mistake, one I should have been wise enough not to make, but I still can't justify letting her end up as a sacrifice… "

As if to underline his words, his hands spread out in front of him in an aimless gesture. Alfred's gaze rested briefly on his master's bloodied knuckles before he said;

"I don't presume to tell you what to do, Sir. But if your hands can't reach him, then maybe your mind can…"

There was a pause, before Alfred continued matter-of-factly;

"I'll get the first aid kit, Sir…"

Bruce shook his head, and smiled a sheepish smile that seemed to indicate that he had realized his own stupidity.

"Don't bother, it's just a scratch…water will take care of it."

Although he had anticipated the pain, he still flinched as the cold water stung the ripped skin on his knuckles. He watched as a couple of small splinters of wood disappeared down the drain, then let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and looked up at his reflection in the mirror.

This really wasn't like him. To lose patience like this was in defiance of all his training, and that lesson was perhaps the most important he had learned in his years abroad. He had not forgotten the feeling of being pulled out of combat training only to stand in a darkened room until Ducard…Ra's had called him forth to spar again. Back then he had never understood the purpose of this sudden exchange. It was not before he looked back on it that he realized that sometimes the best way to defeat an opponent is to take a step back and survey the battleground. He had never had any difficulty doing that in the years he had spent with the League. So why was it so difficult to see the full picture now?

He knew the answer, even if he wasn't keen on admitting it. He had a weakness now that had not been present in his years with the League of Shadows. Her name was Constance Tate. His logic told him that one life sacrificed in an attempt to save hundreds was a small sacrifice. From what he knew of Connie Tate he thought it likely that she would agree with that sentiment. She would most likely not show much hesitation if faced with the choice of saving herself versus saving all her colleagues. He knew that, and still…he couldn't bring himself to follow that logic. He had made the mistake of getting to know her, to know more about her than what it said in her employee file, to ask her about things that weren't common knowledge. And because of that, he had begun to care for her, and take her safety into consideration beyond what he would probably have done had she remained unknown. But what haunted him most of all wasn't that he had misjudged his thoughts about Connie Tate, it was the answer to a question; If Rachel had still been alive, would he still have cared as much?

The answer was; probably not, and it was something he felt inexplicably ashamed to admit. In many ways, he had viewed Rachel as being his one and only. Friend, confidante…lover, she had, or could have been all those things. And when he thought that, if he had been faced with a fair choice, he would have sacrificed Harvey Dent to save Rachel, he realized that despite of all his efforts to become something more than human – a legend, as Ducard had once put it, he was still nothing more than a man.

He studied his features in the mirror, lingering at the reflection of his eyes looking back at him. His compassion was his biggest weakness, and he knew it. The only reason why he couldn't let it go was that it was also the only thing keeping him from becoming like those he fought…the only thing that maintained his balance along the edge of the abyss.

He returned to the study to find the Alfred had disregarded his assurance that everything was fine and brought the first aid kit anyway. He smiled the smile that was both amused at his butler's never ending perseverance, and grateful because of it. Neither of them said anything while Alfred gave the wounds a more thorough cleaning, in fact the only other word uttered was a soft 'thank you' from Bruce as Alfred packed up the first aid kit and left him to his work.

He was chasing a ghost. There was a first time for everything, and this was his first ghost hunt. This meant that as far as detective work went, he would have to discard Locard's exchange principle. Physical evidence would not be what lead him to Edward Nashton. The police and the FBI would have been all over the Opera by now, probably having destroyed more evidence than they had managed to collect. From the Aquarium there was never any hope of forensic evidence, the very first hazardous trap set for Connie Tate had been soaked in water for an unknown amount of time. So the only place he could get forensics from was St. Catherine's church, and that was a long shot. It was weeks since the Riddler had lured Connie into going there. He would go back, but it could wait. First he would use the vague data from the tracking software along with the process of elimination to try and narrow down where Edward Nashton hid from the real world. Now it was by far his best chance at closing the gap between Nashton and the Batman.

He excluded most residential buildings almost immediately. A lot could be said about the citizens of Gotham, but over the past decade they had learned to become suspicious. He had scanned through calls made to the FBI tip line regarding what had been happening in the city in the past couple of weeks, and no one had reported any suspicious neighbors who never saw the light of day. And that was the kind of thing people noticed in a residential neighborhood.

No, Edward Nashton would live in seclusion somewhere he had little chance of being discovered, somewhere you wouldn't expect a person to live, like an abandoned warehouse or factory. But there were a lot of those types of places uptown.

Wait a minute…  
According to the F.B.I's background, Edward Nashton's father had owned a business. What kind of business, exactly? The tapping sound of his fingers on the keyboard sounded almost continuous as he feverishly searched the F.B.I reports. It didn't take him longer than a few seconds to find a page detailing some of Edward Nashton's background, and now the words seemed to jump out at him. It turned out Edward Nashton's father was named Daniel Nashton, and had once owned a very lucrative, but only medium sized, import business based in Gotham. Well, at least he was before he was subjected to the silent rage of his offspring and was forced to file for a chapter seven bankruptcy. It seemed Edward Nashton had accomplished his goal, because there was no paper trail to indicate his father had ever gotten back on his feet.

Maybe there was more to this than the strange attraction which the Joker seemed to wield over some of his fellow criminals. Maybe this was also a case of Edward Nashton coming back to claim something he saw as rightfully his, at least after a fashion. For once, the F.B.I seemed to have nailed the profiling basics.

_He's looking for recognition_, Bruce thought. _And being the mind, the genius behind the chaos is the only way he knows how._

The building had been vacant for a good twenty years, and he was somewhat amazed that it was still standing. The paint on what was left of the doors and window frames had flaked to such an extent that there was really nothing left of it to speak of. The red brick that made up the better part of the structure was hardly red anymore, but a sort of blackish maroon, bearing witness to forty plus years of pollution. Along all the walls were the signatures of countless struggling artists, and what had once been a sturdy wooden roof was now largely replaced with sheets of tin just as flaky as the doors and windows. According to the paperwork the building had been sold or rented at least a dozen times since it belonged to Daniel Nashton, the last time a couple of years ago. The current deed was signed Bill Gates.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was in the right place. And if he turned out to be wrong he would most certainly smash something a lot bigger and more solid than a mahogany desk.

He entered the draughty space through a broken window. At first glance nothing indicated that a genius-level intellectual used this as his base of operations. It was largely empty, except for a couple of wooden crates, partly smashed and entirely covered in a thick layer of dust, and some old machinery, rusty to the point of disintegrating. But he hadn't come here to rely on first glances. He knew all too well how misleading they could be.

He knew that at this point it wasn't as much a matter of vigilance as the ability to pick up on the habits and behavior of the criminals he hunted. The trap door in the floor was barely concealed, and opened without resistance. There was a simple but solid wooden staircase leading downward, but he could already tell that he wasn't going to find what, or rather who he was looking for. His sensors gave him nothing but silence, and when he found the light and turned it on, his sight confirmed that there was no one there but him. But it was equally obvious that not too long ago, there had been.

In one corner stood a cot that looked like it had come from a military surplus, a ruffled sleeping bag lay on it, but despite that it didn't look like it had been used in a while.

_Probably too busy planning the next step in his game_, Batman thought grimly as he continued to look around.

There were other signs that someone had lived down there for some time, a chair, a desk, a small refrigerator, newspapers from the Gotham area dating back to a couple of days before Connie Tate had let her curiosity lead her to an apparently abandoned church, even a TV, but there were no signs of the tools of Edward Nashton's trade, except for a couple of scuff marks on the desk and marks in the dust on the floor. This meant that not only did he know how to cover his tracks online; he was doing a fair job at it in real life too…

On closer inspection he found a couple of fingerprints, a few strands of hair and some other trace evidence. He collected all of it despite it being of little use in finding Edward Nashton's current whereabouts, since he had only been caught while still a minor. There were only faint traces of him in police files, and no reference samples at all. But that was the police…in his private case files there were always room for more reference samples and clues.

* * *

Everything was calm in R&D that day, and even though Connie was worried sick about what the Riddler had planned next, she couldn't help but laugh when Kevin and another R&D employee named Daniel Leeman, who had returned from a short vacation just in time to spend Christmas in the city with his family, began to dance around the office singing Christmas songs, all the while redecorating the entire space with large amounts of holly made from plastic, and using every single available electrical outlet to power dozens of multicolored Christmas lights. By the time they went from redecorating the office to attempting more or less successfully to redecorate their co-workers, she was practically sobbing with laughter. There was something so liberating in laughing until she almost cried that for a moment she had forgotten everything to do with death, including the death threats and death traps that had taken up so much of her time and energy lately. It was also in that very moment that her cell phone rang again.

In a split second every fear she had held before came back, and the phone rang three times before she even dared to look at the display. When she saw that the call came from 'Ethan – Cell' she relaxed, and picked up the phone.

"Hello."

No answer. That was a bit odd for Ethan, he was practically religious about his gadgetry, there was no way he'd forget to activate the key lock on his phone or let it get stolen. She spoke into the receiver one more time, but when she still didn't get a response, she put the phone down and called out to her co-workers for attention.

"Hey! Any of you guys seen Ethan recently?"

Kevin and Daniel were still far too busy goofing around with the Christmas decorations, but Abby Lindley caught the question, and replied with a smile;

"Yeah, he's down in the Dungeons, I think. Saw him go down there after lunch…he's probably playing genius again. Why?"

"Got a call from him, but there was no answer… But I guess that makes sense if he's in the Dungeons. Reception down there is sketchy, at best… I'll go down and see what he wanted. Don't let these two goofballs get too out of hand while I'm away…"

The thought that something could be terribly wrong with the whole scenario didn't hit her until she got into the elevator. Or perhaps she had just managed to block the realization out until then. When she stepped into the elevator she tried to step back and sort through the thoughts that were racing through her head, and the conflicting feelings that seemed to have seeped into her bloodstream and kept changing with every beat of her heart. It took some focus, but she realized that her anger seemed to have outweighed her fear. If that mystery-loving bastard had hurt Ethan to get to her…if he planned on hurting the others, then she was going to make sure she gave him a fight he'd never forget. When the elevator doors opened on the first sub-level belonging to R&D she felt calm. Even if she was still scared, the anger she felt seemed to balance it out, making her able to keep her wits about her. There was some comfort in action, in knowing that she could and would do something instead of watching from the sidelines, despite that she didn't know what she would be faced with.

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hand on the biometric lock, and waited as the sliding glass doors opened with a hiss. Cautiously she stepped inside and called out;

"Ethan! Are you in here?!"

No answer, and no sign of Ethan either. No sign of anyone for that matter… The room was deserted, with no sign that anyone had been working there recently. Carefully she walked through to the next room and looked around.

It took a while for her to see him, and when she finally did the sight came as shock to her. She gasped, because sprawled on the floor in front of her lay an unconscious Ethan Clark. Terrified, she whispered;

"Oh my God…Ethan…"

Resisting the urge to scream she ran over and knelt down beside him, frantically feeling for a pulse. She located a faint, but steady heartbeat and breathed a huge sigh of relief, all the while muttering a 'Thank God' under her breath.

"I wouldn't be so quick to thank anyone, if I were you." A voice said out of nowhere. She glanced around, and saw his face on a screen on the wall in front of her. She knew him instantly, more from the voice than anything else, although the contours of his face seemed familiar from that night below the Opera House.

"You! What the hell do you think you're doing?!? What have you done to him, you monster?!?"

She rose, and managed to take two steps towards the screen before his delighted chuckling made her stop dead in her tracks. The sound of it made her sick, she wanted so bad to put her fist through that screen and make it stop, but she also knew that it probably wouldn't help. He would find another way to reach her, she had no doubts about that, but her hands were still balled into fists trying to resist the temptation.

"Mind your temper now, darling. Such language coming from that pretty mouth… It's all rather simple, you see. I needed a test subject, I had to see if what I had planned for you would actually work…"

He paused, and Connie heard a hissing noise behind her and without really thinking about it turned around to see what it was. As she turned the sound turned into the sound of pressurized air being released, and she felt a sudden, sharp sting on the side of her neck. She let out a scream of pain, and crouched slightly on reflex to avoid being hit again.

"It did." He said with finality, cocking his head to one side, surveying her like she imagined a cat would survey a mouse it had caught. There was something about his eyes that gave her a feeling of being trapped.

Acting on instinct more than sense and reason, she pulled out the projectile and looked at it.

"You shot me with a fucking tranquilizer dart?!?"

His laughter was ringing in her ears as she now noticed the remotely controlled rig used to shoot the projectile. How could she not have noticed that when she entered? It clearly didn't belong there. She brought one hand to where the needle had pierced her neck and was surprised to find she wasn't bleeding. The sound of his cold voice brought her out of the daze.

"Oh, it wasn't a tranquilizer, my dear. You should know, really, some of your colleagues developed it."

He paused again to let her take the words in, and watched her intently as she turned the dart in her hands. It was white, and resembled a pen or a marker more than it did a dart. It had the word 'Scythe' written on the side of it in black lettering, and upon seeing this Connie cursed intently. She was really in trouble now.

The Scythe-project was a recent project with Wayne Biotech, another part of Wayne Enterprises. The first time she and everyone else at the company had seen it was at a company assembly a couple of months previous, where all parts of Wayne Enterprises were showing off their most groundbreaking prototypes. The Scythe-project was marketed as a new form of tactical, biological weapon, something that could facilitate effectively taking out single threats without endangering the environment around them. She hadn't really gotten all the specifics, but she knew enough to realize that whatever it was that was now in her system via subcutaneous injection, it wasn't good. Not really knowing what else to do, she looked back up at the screen, seeing him looking pleasantly back at her, a smile that could only be described as evil tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I think we'd better get started, don't you? No point in you dying before I've explained my intentions to you. Now, I trust you remember what I said about your co-workers dying if you refuse to play the final round?"

Still a bit dumbfounded from the shock of being shot, Connie nodded.

"Good…I thought you might. And that's where we are, now…"

The screen changed, the transmission of the Riddler disappeared, and instead there were a number of images from various security cameras on the premises. The same images flashed over and over again, and Connie stepped closer to study them. As far as she could tell, the only thing the images had in common was that they were taken from cameras close to, but not directly in the areas of the building with the most traffic. By now she was less than an arm's length away from the screen, with her head cocked slightly to one side, trying to see what it was he wanted her to see.

It took another couple of minutes before she noticed what was wrong, but when she first saw it, it was so obvious that it practically jumped out of the screen, and so frightening that she whispered a terrified

"Oh my God…"

"That's my girl," came the pleased response almost immediately. His voice was unnervingly calm, and he continued with a tone that suggested he was discussing the weather, and not the fact that he was responsible for the placement of several bombs that, if detonated, could very well bring down the building.

"As you can see, I keep my promises. That also includes the fact that if you play with me one more time, you can save your co-workers. But should you choose to do so, you won't be so lucky. The substance now working its way through your bloodstream will make sure of that. The choice you face is rather simple. You either stay here, alert your co-workers, and play the game till the end, or you get out of the building and save yourself, but watch your co-workers die."

"What if I leave and try to alert my co-workers instead of getting out myself?"

"Then I seal every door remotely and blow you all up."

His voice was matter-of-factly, with no audible signs of any qualms present. Connie didn't doubt that he would do just what he said, and sighed with resignation. This was exactly the kind of choice she had been afraid of facing. Of course she wanted to do everything she could to save the people she worked with. Many of them were her friends, and as for the hundreds of people in the building she didn't know, she most certainly had no reason to want them dead. But on the other hand a desperate thought kept repeating itself over and over again in her head.

_I don't want to die!_

"So, darling? Which is it going to be?"

It was an impossible choice. Her fear and sense of self-preservation fought with her desire to do what was right. One life or hundreds…in theory it was obvious and easy, but in reality it was anything but. To say that she felt torn didn't even begin to describe the two conflicting feelings that now raged inside her, but it was as close as she could come with words. She didn't know how long she stood motionless, looking at the screen, which had now gone black, before noticing that one of the nearby computers had come to life in its stead.

She realized that she couldn't run. She did not want to die, but she couldn't run. It wasn't so much because it would make her a coward in everyone else's eyes, she could live with that, but she was sure that she would not be able to live with herself afterwards if she decided to walk out on her friends in a selfish attempt to save her own life.

She took a deep breath, and tried to come to terms with the fact that her life would most likely end that afternoon. At first she couldn't, she wanted to scream, shout, smash something…fight. The thought that she would die before her thirtieth birthday made tears appear in her eyes. She thought about how her friends had jokingly already started to plan the party, while the tears began to run down her cheeks. She thought about what it would do to her family, her brother in particular would be devastated. Ever since their father died he had always been the one to look out for her. He was overprotective, sometimes to the point of irritation, but she loved him for it. She loved her friends, she didn't want to leave them.

And yet, in all the tears and cruel thoughts she also found something else; A strange sort of freedom to play the game until the end without being afraid. Because what more could he really do to her? They were finally on even ground. He might still be one step ahead in planning, but she had nothing to lose by playing anymore. As soon as she had gotten everyone else out of the building, he had nothing more to threaten her with, and that in itself was a liberating thought. She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, and sat down in front of the computer. A plan of sorts was forming in her head, and it all begun when she triggered the fire alarm on every floor of the building. As she heard the wailing sound of the alarm beginning to echo down through the walls, she sat back and waited, and oddly satisfied smile on her face. Despite knowing that if she couldn't beat the ghost that was Edward Nashton she would most likely die, she felt bulletproof.

It took a few minutes before the call came through, and she took a deep breath before answering. It was absolutely essential that she didn't lose it, she needed to explain everything to him. She picked up the phone, and heard Lucius' voice on the other end, sounding uncharacteristically agitated.

"Connie, what in God's name do you think you're doing down there?!?"

"Lucius…" She began, and although she was trying her best to keep her voice calm, she couldn't stop it from wavering ever so slightly, something he seemed to pick up on almost immediately, because a follow-up argument never came.

"Listen, you need to get out. I need you to make sure everyone gets out okay…"

Before she could think of what to say next, she heard her name being spoken on the other end of the line, and his voice now sounded with its usual calm, albeit with a tinge of worry added. It was as if he already had understood that what came next would not be good news. The question was inevitable; even if it was the one question she had difficulty formulating an answer to at present.

"Connie, what's going on?"

She took another deep breath, searching for somewhere to begin.

"There's bombs placed at uneven intervals around the building, it looked like plastic explosives, but I can't be sure... I know for sure that the Riddler is behind it…he's been contacting me, giving me these clues… He calls it a game, but it's not…he's after blood, either mine or someone else's. Right now it looks like it's going to be mine…"

Despite her effort to be calm and to the point the words came in gasps, as everything she had been through with the Riddler came flooding back into her mind.

"Alright, Connie…" Lucius said quietly, before continuing;

"It's going to be alright. People are leaving… Any indication on how long we have?"

"No…I think you're going to be okay, as long as I stay here. It's me he wants."

There was a pause, before Lucius said;

"Now, you listen to me, Connie. You can't let this guy get his way; you have to get out too."

Connie shook her head, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"I can't Lucius. I have to stay…it's the only way he's going to let everyone else get out alive. Besides…" She paused, before continuing with a resigned bitterness in her voice;

"It's probably too late for me anyway…"

She regretted her last words the second she uttered them. They sounded too dramatic in a way. She wasn't after pity; she had made her choice and had no intention of going back on it. Of course she was scared, but this was the way it had to be. What she needed from him was some form of assurance that the people she was trying to protect was actually getting out of the building unhurt.

"You'd better start making some sense soon, girl. What's all this talk about it being too late?"

She didn't really know how to respond, but after searching for the right words for a moment she finally said;

"Let's just say he took some precautions before threatening me into this endgame of his…"

She paused, and looked down at the projectile she still held in her hand. Something about it struck her as funny, and without knowing why, she smiled. The thing looked absolutely harmless, like something you would kick out of your way in the street and not think twice about. And this was the thing that would cause her death. The feeling of absurdity was getting familiar by now.

"I suppose you remember the Scythe-project that Biotech showed at that assembly a couple of months back?"

Now it was Lucius' turn to be silent for a long while. When he finally replied she could hear the resignation in his voice, and she knew that he understood.

"Yeah…I remember that… Do you know what the dosage was?"

"I have no idea. Probably just enough for me to watch him win and avoid capture…"

There was another pause, but when his voice sounded again there was a determination present that she recognized from countless problem solving meetings they had had since she started working with him.

"Now, you listen to me, Connie. We're not going to let this creep get the final word, alright. Now, you play the game, and you bring everything you got. I don't care what you have to do to trap this guy in his own web, just do it. I know you can… Don't worry about Scythe; Biotech's got an antidote for that. I'll call in the cavalry…"

There was something so encouraging in hearing him say those words, and something about the way he stressed the word 'cavalry', suggesting that he knew more about her and the Riddler than he let on, that Connie noticed she was smiling again, and this time it was in relief.

"Lucius…"

There were so much she wanted to say to him, but she couldn't find words that didn't sound stupid or melodramatic, and she didn't really know where to start, so in the end all she could say was;

"Thank you."


	13. Endgame: Part I

**Disclaimer:** Batman and related characters are the property of DC Comics with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. I own the OCs and the plot.  
**Author's Notes:** So, this will definitely be the last chapter I post before I end up in the iron grip of my exams. However, I discovered that the end of the story wouldn't fit in a single chapter like I had originally planned, so instead I'll try to split it in two, with an epilogue to follow. Hopefully that will make it a bit more manageable for you to read and for me to write. I hope you enjoy, and please leave a review.  
_Edit:_ Thanks to Lovebuggy for asking me to clarify the first conversation between Lucius and Batman. I've tried to fix it so that it's clearer that the sound of Connie's voice is that of a recording, not the real thing. And please ignore the fact that the tech guy with the GCPD is named the same as a US president. That wasn't intentional, though I realise that it can come across a little weird for those of you living in the States. I'm Norwegian, and so my knowledge of US presidents is somewhat limited... at least I didn't name him Abe Lincoln.

* * *

Lucius Fox had a reputation for being notoriously difficult to surprise or shock. 'Unfazed' was a word that had been connected with him countless times in various newspapers, but it was not a word fit to describe him now. If anyone had walked into his office at that moment, they would probably wonder why it seemed he was trying to stare down his office phone, when in fact the phone had just been the closest thing to which he could mutter what he saw as the appropriate string of curse-words under his breath. This Riddler, Edward Nashton, whoever he was, had gone way too far.

He knew that he probably took this harder than Connie did herself. If he knew her, and he did, she had already worked her way into some sort of acceptance and begun planning how best to beat the Riddler at his own game. He knew that he should follow her example and put his mind to work to try and find a way to save her, but he couldn't help but linger for a while on the anger and the sadness he felt at the whole situation.

After a moment of standing with his eyes closed, simply trying to take in the whole turn of events, Lucius Fox straightened, took the case containing his laptop from the desk, picked up his cell phone and headed out the door. He knew he had to leave the building. If he didn't, Connie was the type to notice via the security cameras and use it against him. And even though he did not feel the least bit comfortable with leaving her alone in a building full of plastic explosives, he knew that he would be able to help her better from the outside.

On the way down through the floors he was met with questions and glances, and he tried to answer both with a calm reassurance. The last thing he needed was a mass panic. He told those who asked that there had been a threat made against the company that indicated a bomb might be in the building, and that it was important that the building was evacuated as quickly as possible. All those he passed on the way seemed to take the information in with a frightened calmness, and were quick to follow.

* * *

On one of the sub-levels Connie was watching everything through the security cameras. She felt much calmer now that she saw people getting out of the building, and whatever substance the Scythe weapon consisted of, she had yet to feel any of its effects. She felt lucid, and as ready as she could be for whatever it was that she was about to face.

Even if she felt calm for the circumstances, the sudden silence felt a bit unnerving. What was this guy playing at anyway? Scare the hell out of her; inject her with something that could kill her, alert her to at least a dozen bombs placed around the building and then disappear…yeah, that made sense. She sighed, and looked over at Ethan, who still lay on the floor but now in the recovery position, to check that he was still breathing. He was, so she brought her attention back to the screen in front of her. She was navigating her way through a sea of code and security measures to try and make contact with a tech she knew with the Police Department. She was very aware that if she made it out alive she could be charged with several computer related offenses, but right now she didn't care. In addition to calling Lucius, this was the only way she had of letting someone else know what kind of trouble she was in. And John Adams was the only one she could think of who had skills to match the Riddler when it came to computers, and thus, probably the one who could help her out of this situation. Connie had met him some years back when she was fresh out of college. Back then he had been employed by the F.B.I to catch people like Edward Nashton, and as far as she knew, and could tell by his skills, he must have been good as his job.

* * *

Outside of the Wayne Enterprises Headquarters, an organized chaos was unfolding, and when he exited the building Lucius Fox reluctantly found himself in the center of it. He was quickly questioned by the arriving firefighters, who, upon hearing about the bomb threat, created a perimeter to match the scale of the threat, before calling in the police and the bomb squad.

It was at least half an hour before Lucius could make the first of two phone calls that would now be essential to Connie Tate's survival. The first number was marked with the name 'M. Malone'. It wasn't 'John Smith', but it was inconspicuous enough not to attract any attention should anyone see it.

He pressed the 'call' button and waited. After a few seconds he heard the familiar deep, growling, voice speak his name. He didn't bother to confirm, but instead spoke the words he had dreaded since hearing Connie's frightened voice, the words that, regardless of time or place, never indicated good news.

"We have a serious problem."

The sound of Connie Tate's calm, yet also terrified voice, sounding slightly more metallic than in real life because of its current incarnation being a recording, seemed to go straight through all the layers of Kevlar and into his heart. In another place deep inside of him, he felt the beast that was his anger stir and awake. Edward Nashton needed to be found and brought to justice _now._

The choice was easier to make this time, more obvious. He could not save Connie. She would have to be Lucius' responsibility from here on out, and although he knew that there was no better man for the job, having to admit that with all his skills he could not be two places at once still stung. He knew it was absurd, but still…

His voice sounded more like the growl of an animal than the voice of a man when he finally spoke.

"Find him."

And to his surprise, Lucius' normally calm, unfazed voice had taken on an edge of anger that manifested when he, without an argument of any kind, answered;

"Will do."

* * *

Computer technician John Adams had in fact been processing some of the meager evidence the police had regarding the Riddler when a message suddenly appeared on his screen.

_Help. Trouble, big time_

_-Lady_

He knew of only one 'Lady' who had the skill to bypass the security system of the police department in order to directly access his computer, and her name was Connie Tate. She was one of the few women in his social circle who fit the description 'geek', and wore it like a crown whenever someone used it on her. He stopped what he was doing, and quickly wrote back;

_How can I help?_

_-J_

Connie breathed a sigh of relief when the message from John Adams popped up on her screen. Had he been in the same room she probably would have jumped up and kissed him, but as things stood she would have to make a mental note to save that for another time and move on. She was surprised to find that the Riddler had not deleted the video file of himself explaining the terms of the endgame. Maybe because he wanted her to send it along…or because he was getting sloppy. She didn't really buy the careless approach from him, so she assumed that he wanted the world to know what he was planning. No reason to deny him that… She smiled to herself as she sent the file to John Adams, knowing it was the closest she could come to explaining to him what was going on.

On his end of the conversation, John Adams received the video file, played it, and cursed. He then picked up the nearest phone to alert his superior officer. He was just about to write a message back to Connie when his computer suddenly died.

Connie's computer, however, did not. Instead another message popped up on her screen. It carried no signature, but the writing was green, so she was in little doubt as to who it was from.

_Well, aren't you a clever girl…  
This is going to be so much FUN!_

She cursed, but it was without feeling or surprise. Her ultimate goal in trying to contact John had not really been establishing the contact in itself, but rather seeing how close a watch the Riddler kept on her, even if having informed John of her problem was an added bonus. It seemed he was following her closely, but not as close as she had expected. Perhaps he had underestimated her level of skill in cyberspace, or perhaps he just didn't think it necessary to enforce her virtual imprisonment as strictly as he did her corporeal prison.

She leaned slightly to one side again, to see that Ethan was still breathing. He was, his breathing was steady, as if he hadn't been poisoned or subjected to anything hazardous at all, but was merely sleeping. Connie caught herself thinking that she would feel worse if she looked over at Ethan to find that he wasn't breathing, than if she started to feel the effects of Scythe herself. She had decided to go into this fighting; she could decide to go out the same way. That decision had never been given to Ethan to make, though Connie suspected that had it been, he would have made the same choice she had, out of pure spite if nothing else.

Before she could fall into the trap of repeating the whole circle of self-pity through to acceptance again, another message came up on the screen. This one simply said;

_Are you ready?_

Connie was a little surprised to find that her voice answered 'yes' without much hesitation. She felt a little stupid talking to a screen, but she was fairly sure he could still hear her, and sure enough, the moment after she had uttered the word the screen in front of her changed again.

* * *

Daylight was no ally to him, and it was an obstacle he would avoid if he could. It took more skill, as well as more resources to camouflage his dark form when the sun was up. Skill he had, but he would rather have spared the resources for something else.

He knew that something could go terribly wrong. Hopefully, most of the police force would be on site for the bomb threat, but there was bound to be some out there who weren't, either because they had better things to do, or potentially more lucrative things. Either way, they would not hesitate to open fire, he was sure of that, and with his suit no longer as resistant to bullets as it had been, he needed to be careful if he wanted to live to fight another day.

These thoughts went through his head as he soared over or in-between the towering structures that made up the financing district of the city. But one thought trumped all the others and it was the thought of one more life slipping through his fingers. A life belonging to a woman who had inadvertently crossed paths with him and gotten herself into a world of trouble in the process, but still…their lives had crossed paths, and sometimes it was impossible to walk away from that type of crossroad unaffected.

He could, and would probably have gone further in his reflections, if it hadn't been for the sound of Lucius Fox's voice in his ear, speaking words he had waited to hear for a long time.

"I got him."

* * *

Connie stared at her screen with an expression encompassing both surprise and awe. Her screen had changed into something that looked like the starting screen of a computer game. It was really quite beautifully made, with what looked like an Ancient Greek styled temple as the main focal point. Up to the temple-like structure led a set of marble stairs, lit by torches, lighting up the darkness with a lifelike glow. At the bottom of the screen, just below where the stairs started to climb towards the entrance above, stood written what she assumed to be the title of the game.

"The Maze of the Minotaur…?"

Connie realized that she had pronounced the title in the form of a question, as if the maker was in the room with her to explain what it was all about. But the only explanation came from a voice without corporeal form.

"Do you like it? I made it for you…for us, so we would have something fun to play."

His voice sounded almost giddy, as if he was a little boy telling his parents of something he'd done, and expected to be praised for. Connie was still angry, and had half a mind to shout at him that they should just get the whole thing over with, but hearing the happy, almost childish tone of his voice made her change her mind. She prepared to answer, tried to close off the anger, at least the part of it that would be audible to an outsider, and instead pretend that she shared some of his excitement. When she spoke her voice was calm and straightforward, but still managing to sound interested, like she was speaking to a child.

"Ok. So, how do we play?"

"Well, there are twelve levels in the maze, and on each one there is a riddle, signified by a golden question mark. You have to find, and solve the riddle on each level to get to the next one. As an added bonus, each riddle corresponds to one charge of explosives, meaning that for each riddle you answer correctly, the chance that the building you are in is still standing when the game ends increases exponentially."

Connie took a deep breath, and tried to take in the situation. She had never thought that she would end up having to put her life on the line for a computer game. But, she reminded herself, a lot of things had happened to her in the past weeks that she thought would never occur. This was just one more thing happening as a part of a string of events that she now wished she had never faced. Just one more thing…that could be the last thing she ever did.

"What's the catch?" She asked. One thing she had learned by now, and that was that in the case of Edward Nashton appearances was deceiving, and there was always something lurking underneath the surface. The answer to her question came accompanied by a small laugh, and he spoke the words as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Why, the minotaur of course. In this case both created and controlled by yours truly. If the Minotaur catches you before you can solve the riddle, the game is over."

"And what happens then?"

"Well, either you die from that substance now coursing through your veins, or the bombs detonate and the building crumbles over you. Whichever comes first…"

There was something truly terrifying in the casual way in which he spoke, and Connie knew that he meant every word. In some way it was as if the realization only dawned on her then, and she had to cling on to the one, final sliver of hope she had, that Lucius would somehow come to her rescue, in an effort not to give in.

It was as if he knew that he had her at her breaking point, because through his silence she got the distinct impression that he was enjoying himself immensely. His next words seemed to underline the notion, because he simply said;

"Whenever you're ready."

* * *

It was only two o'clock in the afternoon, but the sun was already coming down low on the horizon, making it look like all the glass and steel in the financial district was about to melt. It was beautiful, in the way that a city like Gotham could be, but he did not have time to admire the beauty. He had landed on a rooftop when he had heard Lucius identify the location of Edward Nashton's computer. He knew the audio system in his cowl worked just fine, but he had still chosen to land to minimize the possible outside interference. Time was not on his side, for every minute wasted Connie Tate could have taken another step towards her own death. He needed to be sure.

"Are you absolutely certain?"

"As certain as I can be…" Lucius hesitated for a moment when he realized that he had been very close to adding a 'Mr. Wayne' to the end of that answer. He reminded himself that this was not Bruce Wayne; the being on the other end of the line was something entirely different.

"It's where Nashton's computer is. That's all I can tell you. I can't guarantee that he's there with it."

"He is." Came the reply, before the connection was broken.

He took a deep breath, and leapt gracefully off the roof, as if he was a large black bird aiming to see what fortunes lay waiting on the horizon.

* * *

The shrill sound of a phone ringing startled James Gordon, and almost caused him to spill his coffee out over the desk and the numerous reports and other papers that it seemed had taken up permanent residence there. He silently scolded himself for being so damn jumpy, before picking up the phone.

"Gordon."

"Sawyer." Came the reply, and Gordon knew that what followed could not be good news.

Maggie Sawyer didn't call him when there was good news. As the new head of the Major Case Unit, good news were, as of yet, not a part of her job description. To her credit, she had so far handled all the bad news that came with the position very well, a trait that proved her suitability for the job, at least as far as he was concerned.

"What's going on?"

"Bomb threat at Wayne Enterprises. The bomb squad is already on its way, but I got a call from one of my techs that suggest this might be one of Edward Nashton's games. He got what he referred to as a distress call from an employee at Wayne Ent, which might indicate that the woman had been caught up in this bastard's game for a while…"

Gordon nodded to himself in recognition.

"Yeah. Sounds like the same girl I talked to after the Opera incident, together with Agent Travers. I think her name was Connie Tate… she told us all she knew, but it wasn't much. Definitely not enough to nail the bastard…"

"Anyway, you're going to want to see the video she sent him. Detective Adams is still here in Major Case, but I'll be heading down to Wayne Tower shortly… I'll be on my cell, unless they have to jam the radio signals around the place…"

Neither of them bothered to say goodbye. It wasn't out of rudeness, but a simple recognition of the fact that neither of them had time to spare of things like that at the moment.

A growing feeling of unease crept up on him, and by the time he got into his car he was certain that this was not a good day. In Gotham, most days weren't, but this…this bore all the signs of becoming worse than usual.

The drive from City Hall to Major Case wasn't as bad as he had expected, but he still had a sense that he was spending time he didn't have.

John Adams was nervously tapping his fingers on his desk when the sharp pronunciation of his last name made him spin around. Commissioner Jim Gordon was approaching him in full stride, only stopping when he was directly in front of him.

"What have you got?"

Adams spun his chair around so that he was again facing the screen.

"This. A…friend of mine at Wayne sent it to me, and if it's anything to go by, she's in big trouble…"

He pushed a button, and Gordon leant in to see. He saw a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Dark hair, dark eyes…no distinguishing features, just like he remembered Connie Tate's tired voice describing him in the early morning after the hostage situation at the Gotham Opera. But what was most disturbing about this man was not his appearance, but the cold, calm and calculating voice that accompanied it. From the back of his mind, images of the Joker that he thought he had managed to forget floated to the surface. He knew that it was only his imagination playing tricks on him, but he still found the two voices similar. They both contained an utter disregard for the lives they affected, and it was thoroughly unpleasant, not to say unnerving to listen to.

The recording stopped, and Gordon took a deep breath in an effort to gather his thoughts. As a response to John Adams he said;

"It looks like you were right, Detective…Is there anything you can do to track this guy?"

Slowly, as if in defeat, John Adams shook his head.

"No…the only thing I can do is try to analyze the recording, look at the background, lighting…things like that. It could tell me something about where he was when he recorded this threat, but he could have moved…not to mention he's not necessarily in the city. This guy could be anywhere…"

Gordon nodded solemnly, before replying.

"Do it. Right now it's all we've got… I'm heading down to Wayne Tower, keep me posted."

Adams nodded in reply as Gordon turned around and began walking out of the lab with the sound of the technicians frantic keystrokes as accompaniment.

Just as the sliding doors shut behind him, Gordon's phone began to ring. He pulled it from his coat pocket, pressed the appropriate button and held it to his ear without looking at the display. Because of this the dark, rasping voice on the other end came as a complete surprise, almost causing him to drop the phone.

"I have the Riddler's location." The familiar, yet still oddly frightening voice said.

The words made Gordon stop dead in his tracks, and the question came before he could think twice.

"How did you manage that? The entire Major Case has been looking for him for weeks!"

Silence. Gordon sighed. He really should know better by now, the Batman would rarely, if ever, discuss his methods with him. Only if he deemed it absolutely necessary would he let Gordon in on how he had acquired a piece of information or evidence, and that didn't happen often. Because he was old school, still believing that the fewer people knew something, the safer the information, Gordon put up with this practice. In a city like Gotham it was hard to accuse someone of being too careful, especially a man who concealed his identity. Gordon knew very, very little about Batman's personality, he was as much, if not more of a mystery than Edward Nashton. No F.B.I profiler had yet attempted to put his skills to the test on the Dark Knight of Gotham, and Gordon was certainly not about to start his own analysis. The only thing he was fairly certain of was that most men who wore masks, whether they were real or metaphorical, had something to lose, which in turn caused them to opt for the safest option where possible, not matter how dangerous the job in itself were. Eventually, all he said was;

"Forget I asked… What do you need me for?"

"I can find the Riddler, but I can't bring him in. And Constance Tate cannot die."

"The first I could probably help you with…the second is worse. Even if you give us the Riddler, Connie Tate is still in a building filled with explosives, and with some sort of high-tech bio-weapon in her body…"

"_I have to save Dent._ That was your words to me that night on the rooftop. Now, I have to save Constance Tate."

"The same way I saved Dent?" Gordon asked bitterly.

"No," came the answer almost immediately.

"I cannot save her where she is now. Edward Nashton knows this. He also knows that I will come after him, but thinks he has hidden well enough to avoid me. He has not."

"So you can get to Nashton, and I can help get your girl…I get it. I'll see what I can do…"

"The weapon Nashton used on her came from Wayne Enterprises. When you get there, talk to Lucius Fox, he is familiar with its composition and intended use. If you can get her out, he can take care of her from there."

"And what about Nashton?"

"Send a couple of your people to Rose Hill Cemetery. They'll find Edward Nashton there."

The connection was broken, and Gordon caught himself looking incredulously at his cell phone. A part of him was impressed, another forever skeptical. Admittedly, the Batman was good. He had the skills necessary to put most plans into action, but Gordon knew that cleaning up Gotham City could never be a one-man show, and now questioned the wisdom of the Batman's request. The order to arrest the vigilante known as Batman on sight still stood, but Gordon knew that now many police officers were more likely to open fire first, and ask questions later. A difference between life and death. And Batman had placed the decision with him. Follow the request and get the Riddler, but risk the death of one of his most effective liaisons, or disregard it, focus on the Wayne Tower incident and trust Batman to bring the Riddler in on his own.

* * *

Her hand didn't tremble as she placed it on the mouse and clicked the 'play' button, but the deep set feeling of dread that seemed to have taken up residence somewhere behind her ribs did not ease either. She watched the introduction movie, composed of a young woman resembling her being forcefully shut inside a maze by men in hooded, black cloaks. The screen faded to black for a moment, before it came to life again by the light of a torch. Now Connie was watching the woman, who she assumed was the game incarnation of herself, from behind. Her character in the game was dressed in a modern fashion, but was carrying a torch that looked like it was designed from examples of Ancient Greece.

"Great, no sword… not even a ball of yarn…"

Connie took a deep breath, and placed her fingers on the arrow keys on the keyboard. Testing the keys, she turned her character left and right, only accomplishing facing the wall on both sides. Now that she knew for sure that the arrow keys controlled the character, she began to move forwards.

"Ok, golden question mark, where are you?"

The area she was in appeared vast. She couldn't see much of it, but there was something in the design that still gave her the impression that her on screen persona was wandering around in a large, underground cave-like system.

The first riddle proved to be easy to find. All she did was turn a corner, and the question mark that signified the riddles was there in front of her. She didn't really know how to activate it, but decided to try the easy approach and walk straight into it. It worked, the question mark turned into a teleport that brought her to another room. This room was large, circular, with twelve hourglasses placed on pedestals around the walls. Her character turned towards the first hourglass, and the hourglass was lifted into the air as if by a pair of invisible hands and turned. Next to it, words appeared out of thin air.

_I am the beginning of the end, and the end of time and space.  
I am essential to creation, and I surround every place.  
What am I?_

Connie smiled. She knew this one, from memories of her childhood. Her father might have been a simple car mechanic by profession, but he knew how to think, and he managed to come up with many ways to teach his children the same. Logically, imaginative or outside the box, Connie had used all these methods of thought instinctively, before she knew how to name them or categorize them, and it wasn't until years after her father died that she realized that her versatility was all his doing. The riddles were an integral part in Aaron Tate's continuous attempts to make his children think, along with the puzzle boxes and the logic problems and all the other things that got turned into games in their house, and they were accompanied by a code similar to the code that applied to a magician's tricks. A riddle had to be guessed, the answer could not be bought through bribery or persuasion, and once you had learned the code it was your job to put it to use with anyone else you told the riddle to. Connie had learned that the hard way, and tried countless times to get her older brother to reveal the answers, but he never budged. Neither did her father, and she could still call up a picture in her mind of the mysterious, and oh so annoying, smile that played around his lips every time she tried to work him for an answer, or even a hint.

She couldn't help but feel a little cocky when she typed in 'the letter E' and pressed enter. The feeling turned to satisfaction as she watched a cutscene showing the hourglass freeze, before bursting into tiny pieces. One down, eleven to go.

* * *

Rose Hill Cemetery dated back to the late 18th century and was located just east of the Narrows on the banks of the Gotham River. Several of Bruce Wayne's ancestors lay buried in the ornate mausoleums, and it had been the traditional place of interment before later generations had chosen to bury their dead family members closer to Wayne Manor. The most eye-catching of the mausoleums that stood on Rose Hill was that of Solomon Wayne, the man often credited with beginning the development of Gotham City, beginning the change into the metropolis it was in present time. It was an imposing structure, made from what appeared to be blocks of jet black obsidian, polished so that it now mirrored the last rays of the winter sun as it disappeared behind the horizon.

On top of the structure sat a creature just as black as the stone, watching the sun disappear, but from him no light was reflected.


	14. Endgame: Part II

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all associated characters are the property of DC Comics, with movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. The original characters created for this story are my creation and hence they belong to me.  
**Author's Notes:** Wow, the last full scale chapter of Smoke is here, and it's the longest one so far. You have no idea how strange it feels to be nearly finished with this story, it's been in my head for many months now, so it's kind of exhilarating and strange at the same time. I have an epilogue in mind that I plan to write and post, but, as always, I'd love to hear your opinions. Do you want an epilogue or do you like the story better 'as is'? Reviews are encouraged and appreciated, like with all the other chapters, and if you have questions or any other kind of feedback I'd love to hear that too. A big thank you to all who has reviewed and offered opinions and words of encouragement so far, you've all made my work worth while.

* * *

Detective Crispus Allen gripped the steering wheel tight as he turned his head to make temporary eye contact with his partner, sitting in the passenger seat.

"No, I don't understand, damn it! There is a bomb, no wait, not one bomb, _several_ bombs at Wayne Tower, and we get sent to a disturbance call! Come on, we're with Major Crimes. A bomb is a major crime, disturbance…drunk and disorderly, whatever this is, is not!"

Suddenly remembering that he should be keeping his eyes on the road, he turned back to face the windshield. His partner, Detective Gerard Stephens, shot him a sideways glance and replied;

"So, you're saying we should just ignore anything less serious than a bomb threat?"

"No! I did not say that… but what are rookie cops for? You know as well as me that this is probably just going to be some kids who got their hands on six-pack and some cans of paint, either that or one of these wannabe vampire covens, trying to reanimate a long lost master… neither of which is going to be that though to break up. So why is Sawyer sending us out, instead of using a pair of rookies from the precincts who could use the training?"

"Maybe because she needs the rookie cops at Wayne Tower to do her dirty work, while they still remember the whole 'protect and serve' thing... I don't know, but let's just get it over with… Likely we'll have plenty of time to get back downtown, and then you can jump around and be a hero all you want."

Allen retorted by giving him a look that could have passed for white hot embers, but didn't say anything further.

* * *

Deep inside Wayne Tower, Connie Tate was still sitting in one of the rooms designated Research and Development, but she was becoming less and less aware of her surroundings and, almost despite herself, more and more absorbed in the game. In the Hourglass Room, as she had begun calling it in her head, half of the hourglasses had been shattered, and the floor was strewn with virtual pieces of glass. It had been close a couple of times, but so far she had managed to grab the teleports before the Minotaur, aka Edward Nashton, caught up with her. The maze itself seemed to get more and more complicated, with more dead ends and twists and turns, but she had managed to use that too in her favor on a couple of occasions. Now she found herself in the Hourglass Room again, this time facing the riddle:

_In a tunnel of darkness lies a beast of iron. It can only attack when pulled back. __  
What is it?_

A beast of iron? A train maybe…an old fashioned one? No, that didn't seem right somehow. Trains hardly attacked, did they? A sword, maybe? But it's not necessary to pull back a sword to attack…A sword could be used to stabbing, even if it wasn't ideal. She glanced around, looking for something to put her on the right track. The 'attack' part implied a weapon of some sort. It could have been a bow, but bows were rarely made of iron. But some sort of weapon for firing, perhaps?

Unexpectedly, the answer came to her by way of a dismantled office toy on a nearby work table. Why it had been dismantled, she didn't know. Maybe Ethan or someone else had thought of a bright idea and needed new parts. It wasn't exactly uncommon for her, or the other people in R&D to look for, and find, parts in unusual places, but now the small silver orbs from Newton's cradle put her on a very different, but no less rewarding path.

Could it be a bullet? 'Tunnel of darkness' could be consistent with a gun barrel, bullets could easily be made of iron, and the 'attack when pulled back' part could be referencing the hammer of a revolver-type gun.

She looked back at the screen, and saw that the current hourglass only had about a third of the sand left in the top half. She was running out of time, and was at loss for a better suggestion. Apprehensively she typed in 'bullet', and bit down on her bottom lip as she pressed 'enter'.

The few seconds that it took for the hourglass to shatter seemed like an eternity, and her body was frozen with her eyes locked on the screen for a moment before she dared to exhale. One more step in the right direction.

* * *

The concentrated beam emanating from the flashlight shone just enough light on the stone that he was able to read the name engraved on it. But it wasn't the name he was looking for. True enough, he didn't know for sure what that name would be, but he was sure that he would know when he saw it. So far, Edward Nashton has showed impeccable showmanship, it was almost a character trait for him, so ingrained in him that he would not give it up even when it threatened to get him caught.

And there it was, right in front of him, and to him it was so obvious it appeared almost as if something solid red had just appeared in a sea of black and grey. To an untrained and inattentive eye the small structure would be completely unremarkable. It looked like it had once been a light grey color, but now the color was stained with areas of darker grey and black. In some areas the stone was chipped, and the copper plaque inscribed with the names of the supposed inhabitants was green from oxidization. On the occasion that someone walked by, he or she would probably read the names and wonder, but nothing more. With his insight, the names were a red flag.

_Shirley Anderson  
Thomas Holmes  
Sam Marlowe  
Phillip Spade_

Or, if you swapped them around;

_Shirley Holmes  
Thomas Anderson  
Phillip Marlowe  
Sam Spade_

All of them became fictional characters. Sam Spade and Phillip Marlowe were both protagonists in crime fiction, Thomas Anderson was an alias for a hacker in a relatively recent movie, and Shirley Holmes...well, Shirley was probably a little more inconspicuous than writing Sherlock, and Edward Nashton's way of taunting him by using the name associated with perhaps the greatest fictional detective. The Batman flatly ignored the attempted taunt; it took more than word games to get to him. Nashton was getting overly confident and even somewhat cocky – that was good, it would make it so much easier to take him down.

He moved slowly towards the door and the copper plaque. When he was just inches away, he stopped again, noticing a detail that only confirmed to him that he was in the right place. Carved in the stone above the door was a thin border that ran the width and length of the door frame that, from a distance, just looked like one of the few decorative elements of the mausoleum. Up close, where he now stood, he saw that this too was a manifestation of Edward Nashton's belief in his own abilities, because the word 'enigma' was continuously embedded into the border. In his mind it was the confirmation he needed, and he slid the door open, ready to face the darkness he knew would meet him inside, in some form or another.

* * *

Connie watched as another hourglass flipped over, and the sand beginning its journey from the top half to the bottom. On the screen in front of her stood the words;

_It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,__  
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.  
It lies behind stars and under hills,  
And empty holes it fills.  
It comes first and follows after,  
Ends life, kills laughter._

Connie grinned.

"Nice try, but I read that book. Not to mention I have a brother who read it before me, and who loved to torment his little sister by making her guess the riddles…"

She typed in 'darkness' and pressed enter, watched the hourglass shatter and prepared herself to go back into the maze. Before it began she had thought that the riddles were going to be by far the most challenging part of the game, but she soon found out that it didn't work like that. Navigating the maze in a constant effort to _find_ the damn riddles was proving much more of a challenge, especially when Edward Nashton, in the appropriate guise of the Minotaur, was after her. She knew that there were formulas that were designed to find the most likely path through a maze or labyrinth, but even if she had known one of them it wouldn't help her. After all, she wasn't trying to find her way out, and she wasn't aware of anyone who had, as of yet, come up with a formula designed to find a series of golden question marks in a maze. Except maybe the Riddler himself, but he wasn't going to willingly share it with her in any case.

She turned a corner and almost shouted out loud in shock and surprise. Because on the narrow path in front of her stood the Minotaur, black and gleaming with eyes that were like glowing embers. Had this been an ordinary computer game, Connie would have taken the fight without thinking much of it. After all, in an ordinary computer game you have the option to save and start over if something goes wrong, but in this game things were far from ordinary.

She turned on her heel and ran. There wasn't much else for her to do, really. The Riddler hadn't given her character any weapons other than her own wits, and he had made it very clear that if the Minotaur ever caught up with her, it was game over.

She was about to turn a corner to try and throw the beast off the trail, but just as she made the turn she noticed that the Minotaur didn't seem to have moved at all. For a brief moment she hesitated, before taking her finger off the forward button and turning around. Had he stopped, and if he had, why?

When Connie looked back, she saw that the Minotaur appeared to have not only stopped, but frozen in mid-movement. A crooked, somewhat cruel smile crept across her lips. If Edward Nashton's computer had crashed, it was no more than he deserved. She didn't linger to enjoy the moment, but turned her character around again, and kept searching for the next teleport. After all, she didn't know how long Lady Luck would stay on her side.

Little did she know that Lady Luck had very little to do with Edward Nashton's computer malfunctioning. The one responsible for that was a considerably darker character, whose rage was now directed at the Riddler, manifesting in a rather violent fashion.

* * *

He took a slow, deep breath and let a strange feeling of comfort wash over him. It was the darkness; it made him feel at home. He knew that it was abnormal, even dangerous, but it was also the strongest advantage he had when fighting the scum of Gotham City. He was as familiar with the darkness and its effects as those he hunted. In the darkness he became a skilled predator, and tonight, like most nights, his prey had no idea they were being trailed. At least not until he wanted them to know.

Edward Nashton sat absorbed in what was happening on the screen in front of him, and was oblivious to the fact that he was no longer alone. Something was watching him from the surrounding darkness, a creature created of the anger and the rage of all those wronged by crime, waiting for the time to strike.

Batman stopped to survey his surroundings. The small, bunker-like room looked pretty much the same as the hideout underneath the abandoned warehouse had done, it had exactly the same simple furnishing and cold atmosphere, coupled with a sophisticated computer system that appeared to be adapted from prototypes or other technology so recent it wasn't yet available on the commercial market, probably built and adapted from blueprints stolen from several major companies. The system and its nature would surely make a solid argument in the court case against Edward Nashton, but that was someone else's concern entirely. Where he stood the Batman was concerned only with Edward Nashton himself. He felt as the beast inside him fought against its shackles…and won. Without hesitation he took the first step.

Edward Nashton did not notice his unwelcome visitor until he saw the growing shadow that was reflected in the screen in front of him. For a brief moment the remnants of a smug smile flickered across his face, before his expression turned to shock and he spun around to face the intruder. His mouth opened, as if to say something, but he never got the opportunity, because he was lifted from his seat and thrown head first into the screen, cracking the glass and sending sparks flying into the now completely darkened space. The iron grip that had been around his neck loosened, and he fell to the floor, whimpering.

"Please…" he begged, desperately,

"Please don't hurt me!"

Batman watched the huddled figure on the floor for a moment with nothing but contempt and disgust in his eyes. Then he took a tight grip on the man's shoulder and pulled him to his feet.

In the darkness Edward Nashton could just make out the outline of the creature that now had him in its grip, and he knew one thing for sure – this was not a human being, this was a creature of the night, as pure and vivid as in his nightmares.

"You have been playing God in my city long enough, Nashton. Your game is over."

Edward Nashton's eyes were wide with terror, and his voice trembled as he asked;

"A-are you g-going to k-kill me?"

"No." Came the answer, after a long moment of silence. But before Edward Nashton could breathe a sigh of relief, the vice-like grip on his shoulder tightened, and the menacing growl continued;

"I will find every place you have been in this city, and I am going to search through them with a fine tooth comb. I am going to find trace of every code you've ever written, in every place you have ever hacked into, until I can deliver enough evidence to the police to keep you locked up for a very long time. Do you doubt me?"

The arm that held him moved, and he felt himself being lifted into the air, and he was suddenly forced to look into the beast's terrifying eyes, eyes that to him seemed to be almost glowing in the dark.

"N-no…" He stuttered, helplessly.

The creature gave one nod of its head, before speaking again.

"Good. Because if you ever do, and try to play God again, I will not be forgiving. I will come for you and make you remember this; every breath you take from now on, you owe to me."

* * *

Detectives Stephens and Allen were knee-deep in snow, wading through a deserted part of Rose Hill cemetery, shining their flashlights on the surrounding area as they went.

"Disturbance call, my ass." Allen said, stopping to catch his breath, before turning to his partner who had come to a halt beside him and continuing;

"There's not a soul here! Remind me, why are we here again?"

Before his partner could answer, something happened that would add a new meaning to the term 'disturbance' for the both of them. There was a loud crash, and the door that sealed one of the nearby mausoleums flew open. From the darkness within came first a fluttering sound, like that of many wings, then a jet black figure came almost soaring through the opening. It took a moment before Allen and Stephens realized that the figure was familiar and bat-like, but that it also seemed to be carrying something, or rather someone else.

"I'll be damned," Stephens said, almost in awe, before going for his weapon. His partner was one step ahead, and had already drawn his firearm and directed it to where the living shadow now landed in front of them. But there was no way either Stephens or Allen would risk the shot, because a thin, dark haired man, who was obviously terrified, stood directly in front of the Batman, and was firmly held in place.

"Alright," Allen began slowly, after a long moment of clear hesitation.

"Let him go, put your hands up nice and slow, and no one is going to get hurt here…"

Batman didn't move. Allen wasn't surprised, but his training told him to always try the gentle approach first. When that didn't work, it was an entirely different ballgame. The order was clear; the vigilante known as Batman was wanted for the murder of five people. Allen knew this, and yet a part of him, the part that knew how it felt to feel forced to take a life, hesitated. And when the Batman spoke, he listened.

"This man is Edward Nashton. Lately he's been calling himself the Riddler. He is behind the bombs planted at Wayne Tower, and it was him who threatened to cut the city's power supply. When your techs analyze his computers, I'm sure you will discover he is the mind behind more events as well."

Allen and Stephens exchanged looks. Even if they couldn't decipher each other's glances in the dark they still felt the other's skepticism. No one knew better than them how slippery this 'Riddler' guy had been. Major Case had spent the majority of their resources on finding him ever since he started wreaking havoc in the city, and now it seemed they had been upstaged by the resident vigilante once again. But there was one question on the mind of both police officers; What if he was lying?

Commissioner Gordon had trusted the Batman, to the extent that an honest veteran cop could trust anyone who placed himself outside the boundaries of the law, but most of the other people on the force didn't share his view back when the Batman had emerged, and most certainly didn't now. Both detectives now facing the giant bat knew this, and still both of them hesitated. Because to their knowledge he had never been wrong…Always when the Batman brought criminals to the attention of the GCPD he had all the bases covered and there was more than enough evidence available to ensure a conviction.

In the end it was Stephens who took a step forward, at the same time as he holstered his weapon and slowly pulled a pair of handcuffs from his belt.

"Okay." He said, in a way that sounded like he was trying to calm down both hostage and hostage taker.

Stephens measured every step as he walked towards the looming, black-clad figure and the shivering man he held in front of him as a shield. As he stepped forwards, the Batman stepped back, leaving Edward Nashton standing in between them. At this point he could probably have made an attempt to escape, but the image of those burning eyes looking down on him still lingered, and he remained standing perfectly still.

Stephens reached him, and put the handcuffs on without any fuss. Allen had followed his partner, his gun still drawn and pointing at the Batman, who now stood a short distance away from the three of them.

"Hey!" Allen called out to him,

"Don't move."

For a moment it looked like the Batman was actually planning to follow the order, but then a gust of wind caused his cape to billow, giving him the distraction he needed to get out of the line of fire. In a rush of black fabric he dove out of the spotlight created by the flashlights of the two detectives and back into the shadows.

He heard the muffled sound of running footsteps as Allen gave chase, and knew that the sooner he could get away, the better. He knew he could incapacitate Allen if he needed to, but he didn't want to stir things up further by assaulting a police officer. Something like that would probably spread through the papers like a wildfire, and would probably ruin any chance he might still have to work his way back to some sort of acceptance from Gotham's inhabitants.

The sound of a gunshot pierce the silence, and a split second later he felt a burning pain in his side. Since it took some skill to hit a moving target by the light of a flashlight after dark, Allen was apparently one of the GCPD's better shots, but fortunately for him not good enough to have seriously wounded him. Still, no need to give the detective a chance to rectify that…best to get out of the way as soon as possible.

Batman leapt into the air just as another gust of icy cold wind swept through the cemetery. The wind carried him for about twenty feet before he somersaulted sideways into a landing between two monumental grave markers and kept running. He still heard Allen's running steps, but they were further away now, and he was no longer in view of the detective's flashlight.

The freezing air stabbed at his lungs as he reached the top of the hill that bordered on the Gotham River and threw his body into a desperate, barely controlled dive to escape. Just as it looked like he might be forced to go for a cold swim in the river, another strong gust of wind came to his rescue. It picked him up and carried him away from Rose Hill and towards the island known as the Narrows.

The Narrows were not the ideal place to render first aid, but he didn't really have a choice in the matter at the moment. Luckily he had been right in his previous assessment, the wound wasn't deep, only a flesh wound caused by a bullet grazing the side of his suit. Still, he couldn't risk the effects of excessive blood loss sneaking up on him, there was still something he needed to do.

A powerful antihaemorrhagic powder, borrowed from Wayne Medical, would provide an efficient, but painful temporary solution to the problem. He gritted his teeth as the stinging sensation spread through the wound, signifying that the blood vessels in the area were being sealed off.

For a moment he sat completely still, just breathing, leaning against the damp, dirty brick wall that closed off that particular roof. Without him really knowing why, his thoughts went to her. He wondered if she was still alive, if she had played the game until he stopped it, or if she had failed before that and was waiting, wondering, or trying to get used to the thought of dying. Once again he felt as powerless as he had done in the moments when he had heard the reproduction of her voice on that recording; it was as if his actions at the cemetery had never happened at all. For all he knew Nashton could have killed her already.

He had to know. He had to risk it. He knew he should head somewhere safe, hang up the suit, stitch himself up and stay off the radar for a while, but he couldn't. He feared what he might see, what he might hear, but he needed to know. Taking one last, deep, controlled breath he stood up, stepped onto the ledge with a grace that only a creature of the night could have, and leapt once more into the darkness.

* * *

Lucius Fox watched as a dark-haired woman in her early fifties navigated her way briskly through the sea of officers, police tape and perimeters now in place around Wayne Tower. When she reached him, he greeted her with a quick but firm handshake, and the words;

"Leslie. Glad you could make it."

She gave him a brief smile, and replied;

"I got your message. Scythe, huh?"

He nodded grimly, but didn't say anything.

"What's the time frame," she followed up, glancing at him as if trying to read his state of mind.

"Best I can tell…couple of hours, maybe more."

"And the dose?"

He shrugged.

"She couldn't say."

"Damn," Leslie replied, with feeling, before continuing;

"How do we know she's even alive?"

"We don't," Lucius replied, some of his desperation and resignation finally seeping into the tone of his voice.

"How long is it going to take us to get in?" Leslie asked, still trying to get a picture of the situation.

He shrugged again, and replied;

"I don't know. Hopefully not much longer…"

They stood for a moment in silence, watching the officers of the GCPD Bomb Squad move around inside the tower.

"Listen, Lucius…" She began carefully,

"I know you care about this woman, and I want you to know that I'll do everything in my power, but…you know as well as I do, that Scythe wasn't made to be reversible…"

They exchanged glances, and after a moment Lucius nodded slowly, to acknowledge that he knew.

By the time they were cleared to re-enter the tower, Leslie and Lucius was in the company of several other employees from Wayne Medical, none of which Lucius knew by name. None of them knew what would meet them when they entered the sub-level belonging to Research and Development where a fierce battle of minds and wits had been taking place in the last few hours. Lucius feared the worst, and if he were to judge by the solemn look on Leslie Thompkins' face, so did she.

The elevator pulled softly to a stop and the group with Lucius in the lead, but closely followed by members of the GCPD bomb squad, began making its way toward the facilities of Research and Development.

Lucius had a fair idea where they might find Connie, and led the group through a narrower set of hallways, to a part of R&D that lay somewhat off the beaten path from the other departments on the level. It was used by R&D primarily for building various small scale prototypes, and would be a good place to trap someone.

The door slid open and let them in without protest of any kind. True, he hadn't known what to expect, but he had thought that getting to her would be much more challenging. But then again, maybe the easy access was caused by the so-called genius being caught off guard…

The group spread out, some moved into different rooms, all searching for the same thing; signs of life. For a while they searched in silence, but then, after several tense moments, one of the members of the bomb squad came upon the unconscious body of Ethan Clark, and then, a few seconds later…

"Lucius! I've found her!" The voice of Leslie Thompkins carried through the large, open space they were in, and Lucius moved quickly towards the sound, not waiting to ask;

"She still alive?"

He approached, and saw Leslie crouching behind one of the desks. The first thing he saw on the floor beside her were wisps of long, dark brown hair, and as he moved closer he could see the rest of Connie Tate lying sprawled on the floor, her arms and legs at odd angles. The feeling of utter disbelief and sheer terror hit him square in the chest. She couldn't be dead, it just wasn't possible. She was always so full of life, it was as if it flowed through her like some kind of elemental magic…something like that couldn't just disappear in the blink of an eye, could it?

Leslie's voice was grave when she answered;

"Barely."

Lucius' heart leapt. There was still hope. He could tell from the look Leslie sent him that it was just a sliver, but he was convinced that it was enough for Connie to cling on to.

"We need to get her out of here _now_. Her body is already starting to shut down…every minute we don't administer the counteractive agent, she's one minute closer to massive, multiple organ failure."

* * *

The building that now housed Wayne Medical had been constructed during William Earle's last year of tenure as C.E.O of Wayne Enterprises, and was finished, ironically enough, shortly before the disaster in the Narrows. Administratively, Wayne Medical was responsible for the majority of Gotham's hospitals, as well as a number of free clinics funded by the Wayne Foundation. In addition to this, Wayne Medical, prided itself on being on the cutting edge of research concerning the field of medicine, much like the other parts of Wayne Enterprises did in their respective fields.

To an outsider the research facilities would probably look like a cross between a hospital and a spaceship, but Leslie Thompkins and the crew she worked with were as far on the inside as one could get, and even though treating a victim of Scythe wasn't something they had trained extensively for, all of them still worked together like a well-oiled machinery. And that was a good thing, because at this point Connie Tate's life was hanging by a very thin thread.

Lucius was watching the spectacle in horror, and every time he saw a needle or a tube or any kind of medical paraphernalia being forced into her lifeless body, the knot that was now his insides tightened. He tried to get a grip, tried to think straight…thought about her family, that he needed to find out who to call, thought about her co-workers; they would want to know what had happened to her… But most of all his thoughts revolved around the basic theme of;

_This is wrong!_

Things like this weren't supposed to happen! Not to an innocent, loveable, fun-loving, smart young woman with everything finally going her way. Not like this.

* * *

Across the street a figure sat hunched on the very edge of a rooftop. No one could see him, and even if they could he sat so still most would mistake him for a part of the architecture. But his appearance was once again deceiving, because behind the mask, beneath the armor, his mind and spirit was in turmoil.

Only once in his life before had he felt as helpless as he did now, and that was many years ago, in what now seemed to be a different life all together. His eyes were watching what was happening in a room a couple of floors below on the building opposite so intently that is was almost as if they pierced the glass by sheer strength. As he watched he felt the steady rhythm of his heart beat violently against his ribs, like it was trying to compensate for the irregular heartbeats of the woman in the hospital bed. And yet, despite his will and desire to do something to help, all he could do was watch.

He sat perched on the rooftop for over twelve hours, watching as she worsened and was put on life support, and then improved again to the extent that she could be taken off. He watched Lucius make several calls, to her family as well as some of her friends and colleagues, many of which showed up some time later, and were promptly showed to a spacious room on the floor below, where most of them stayed and kept vigil.

It was now close to six a.m, and it would still be another hour before the sun came up. The restlessness that had been building up ever since he first settled on that rooftop was now almost unbearable, and he knew that he had to move. Not chiefly because his limbs were stiff and cold from not being in use, but also because he realized that he couldn't call off his own vigil without getting a closer look at her, just to make sure that she really was still breathing.

He was aware of the risk. If anyone saw him, he would have no choice but to run, and he would have to stay away from her for a long time. But it was a risk he was willing to take. This was one rare occasion where his emotions overrode his logic, and he let them. He couldn't rationalize as to why, after all, he wasn't even sure what kind of emotions he was dealing with. It wasn't love, nor friendship…it couldn't be. Both of those indicated a sense of familiarity, of knowing, and he didn't know her outside of Edward Nashton's game. She certainly didn't know him. And despite that, there was something in her eyes when she looked at him that made him feel like she did.

* * *

Connie couldn't pinpoint exactly when her mind returned to consciousness, but the moment it happened she wished unconsciousness could have lasted a little bit longer, because her body felt like it had been through a wringer. She opened her eyes only to find that not only were her surroundings almost completely darkened, they also appeared blurry and out of focus.

After a moment, her field of vision had cleared considerably and she began to slowly register her surroundings. She realized she was lying in a bed, hooked up to an intravenous drip and a few different monitors. There was a window on one side of her bed; the blinds weren't shut so she could see out into the darkness outside, where large flakes of snow were drifting whimsically towards the ground. The wall directly in front of her was also made out of frosted glass, and appeared to contain some sort of technology she didn't instantly recognize. The wall on the other side of her bed was brick painted white, and there was a glass door and another window, this one leading out into a brightly lit hallway.

She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. She had no idea how she had ended up there, wherever 'there' was. The last thing she remembered was that a moment after she had seen that the Riddler seemed to have problems with controlling his Minotaur the rest of the game had frozen as well, and she had gotten up to stretch her legs and try to figure out what to do next. After that, everything had gone black. It had to be the Scythe drug that had knocked her out…she couldn't think of any other explanation. Not that she really tried either, her brain wasn't really functioning at its best at that point, which was why, when she saw a shadow move ever so slightly out of the corner of her eye, she wondered if she was seeing things that weren't there.

It had never been his intention to wake her, all he had ever intended to do was watch the even rise and fall of her chest, maybe get a glimpse of the peaceful expression on her face as she slept and hear the soft sound of her breathing. Yet he found that when he suddenly saw her eyelids flutter and open, a deep-set feeling of relief seemed to settle into him. And strangely enough, with it came a feeling of annoyance that begun to seem familiar to him now. Stupid girl, she had risked far, far too much...

A part of him thought that maybe it would be best if he didn't reveal himself to her, arguing that he had already trespassed on her life more than once, and that she should be left in peace to recover from her ordeal. But the other part, though lacking the reasonable arguments, was just as fierce in its reasoning for him to stay. Once again he let instinct trump logic, and made one small move, just enough to make her look in his direction again.

Even though her instincts told her that what she had seen was only a trick of a tired mind, they also made her look again. That was when she saw the by now familiar silhouette of a tall, black clad figure watching her from the darkest corner on the wall facing the outside. When their eyes met in a silent acknowledgement of his presence, he took a step towards the bed and said in a low voice;

"You are either the bravest woman I have ever met, or the most foolish."

In response she made a noise in the back of her throat that would normally sound like a short laugh, but now sounded more like a cough, before saying;

"Do I get to choose?"

She was surprised at how weak her voice sounded, and in her head she would have liked it to sound a bit stronger and more confident because a part of her didn't want him to see her in a hospital bed, vulnerable and weak. But another part of her was glad to see him; after all, in a strange way he had been her only constant point of reference in all that had happened, the only one who knew the details like she did, and more…

For a long moment there was silence between them, but his eyes were focused on her, and she was looking back at him. Her eyes were tired, but he noted that they still had the spark that seemed to keep pulling him towards her, even though he knew he should stay away. After a while he said;

"You risked your life for those people."

She gave him a tired smile, and said silently;

"You noticed."

"It was a foolish thing to do."

From her bed she managed to give a sort of one-shouldered shrug, before she replied.

"Yes, maybe it was. But don't come telling me you would have done any different had it been you in my place."

He didn't answer, but sent her one of those piercing looks she had gotten her fair share of over the past few weeks.

"You seem to think I'm arrogant, that I'm trying to be some kind of savior… I'm not. The choice I made…it wasn't easy. I thought about my family… I have an overprotective brother, a niece I wouldn't leave for the world, and a mother who has lost more than she should ever have had to… But so does the hundreds of other people who were in that building. I wasn't trying to be a hero…"

"But you were courageous."

She had half expected it to be an accusation, and was somewhat surprised to find it didn't sound like that at all.

"Did you actually just give me a compliment?" She asked, stunned and a little bit amused, especially when the result of the question was another long moment of silence.

She smiled again, and slowly moved to a more upright position on the bed. It seemed for a moment as if he was about to say something to stop her, but he didn't, and she pulled her legs up under her and looked his way again.

"I was actually kind of hoping you would show up. I know it's stupid, but… I wanted to say thank you."

"Don't. It wasn't me who saved you from that building."

Connie stopped for a moment and considered what he had just said. Then, she shrugged and continued;

"You got me out of the Opera House alive. I never asked you to fight my battles for me, but occasionally you did anyway. And when you didn't fight for me you fought with me… you helped me, in a way that no one else could have done. That's more than enough, and I'm grateful to you for that."

He didn't know how to respond, but he didn't want her to think that he ignored her so he took a hesitant step towards her, then another, a bit more confident this time. Seeing this, she smiled, and seemed to understand what he could not put into words.

She hesitated for a moment before she said;

"I don't believe you killed those people."

"What?"

"The people they accused you of killing…after the Joker was captured. I don't think you did it…"

"Based on?"

She moved so that she rested her elbows on her knees and turned her head to face him, cocking her head slightly to one side.

"I've seen you fight…but I've never seen you use a gun. Not once. Not even when it would have ended a fight much faster. That SWAT guy at the Aquarium, you took his rifle…you could have shot him, that would have incapacitated him for much longer…but you didn't."

She was looking directly at him through those deep brown eyes, and when their eyes met he got the distinct feeling that she could see some of what was going on underneath his mask. Not in the sense that she knew who he was, but she seemed to have above average abilities to make an educated guess as to what he was thinking and feeling. Meeting someone with that kind of skills was unusual for him; most were distracted enough by his mask to not dwell on the thoughts of the man underneath.

"It's alright…" she said after a while, when she realized that he wasn't going to say anything on the subject.

"You don't have to say anything."

Again there was silence, and it seemed neither of them could think of anything more to say. Now it was his turn to have his gaze fixed on her, he watched as she rested her head on her arms and took a deep breath. He was struck by how frail she looked, compared to the feisty woman he had met in a deserted church a few weeks back. That woman was still there, behind those eyes somewhere, but he saw now how the things she had been through had eaten away at her.

"You should sleep." He said matter-of-factly.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to look at him, and replied;

"I'm fine."

"Four hours ago you were on life support, twelve hours ago you were minutes away from massive multiple organ failure…you're not fine. You need to rest."

It wasn't an order, but it was spoken with a finality that showed it as a simple fact.

"Ok…come closer."

"Excuse me?"

"If you come closer, I'll go back to sleep when you leave."

He thought about the request for a moment. It was unlike any request he had gotten before, and he didn't understand it, but he assumed it couldn't hurt to oblige. He stepped closer until he was standing right next to her bed.

"Why?" He asked, almost in wonder.

She gave him that soft, knowing smile, and stood up so she was standing stretched out on her knees on the bed. Now their faces were almost level and for a long moment their eyes rested on the other. Then the corners of her mouth twisted upwards in that same mischievous little smile he had seen on her face so many times already, before she briefly leant forward and kissed him softly on the cheek and whispered a soft 'thank you' in his ear.

The part of him that moved in the daylight and the wealthy circles of society had kissed his fair share of beautiful women, and had become adept at pretending that he was enjoying himself immensely, but despite that he couldn't remember the last time he had been truly surprised by a kiss. Nor could he remember the last time a kiss had set off a fireworks display to his inner eye.

Connie had curled up among her blankets and was watching his surprise with a sort of childish satisfaction and a smile she had the feeling she should have been trying to conceal but couldn't. When he showed no signs of moving, or even reacting to what she had just done she shrugged, closed her eyes and tried to get comfortable. She was planning on keeping her promise.

For a long while she didn't hear anything, and assumed he had left silently like he had done so many times before. But then she heard the rustle of his cape as he took a step towards her, and completely unexpected she felt a hand brush a strand of hair away from her face, before very gently caressing her cheek.

"My pleasure."

It was as if the words themselves made his voice sound different, giving it more the sound of a man and less the sound of an animal, and for a second she thought that it reminded her briefly of another voice she had heard, but she couldn't place it and despite what she had claimed she was far too tired to search her memory further.

There was another soft rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of careful footsteps, then a gust of wind and a window closing, and she knew he had gone.


	15. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** Batman and all associated characters are the property of DC Comics, with the movie rights belonging to Warner Brothers. Only the original characters, including Connie Tate and some of her friends and co-workers belong to me, as they are of my creation.  
**Author's Note:** Wow...so this is it. This is the final chapter of Smoke and Mirrors. While a part of me is thrilled to have finished it, another part of me doesn't quite know what to feel, because this story has been with me for almost a year now. I'd like to thank all my readers and reviewers for spurring me on and encouraging me to keep writing, this story probably wouldn't be finished without you. I'm planning the sequel, but I don't know when I'll start writing and posting it, so you'll have to keep your eyes peeled. As always reviews and other comments/suggestions are more than welcome. Finally, I hope you all enjoy this epilogue. It's been an absolute pleasure writing for you.

* * *

His grip on the armrest tightened as a needle and a thread pierced his skin, closing the wound in his side one stitch at a time. Alfred was sitting crouched next to him, finishing up the needlework, before he straightened and surveyed his master through wire-rimmed spectacles.

"I do wish you could occasionally come home without chunks of flesh missing from your body, Master Wayne."

"Oh, come on, Alfred," Bruce began, reaching for a clean shirt.

"This is nothing."

He gestured towards the newly stitched wound in his side, trying to make a point of how insignificant it was, compared to the other scars on his body.

"You were shot, Sir. I'd hardly call that insignificant." Alfred retorted, watching those same scars disappear behind fabric as Bruce put the shirt on.

"It's just a flesh wound, Alfred. I've lived through worse…"

"I'm well aware of that, Master Wayne."

Alfred's tone hardened, and Bruce realized that he was well on his way to stepping over a line he'd rather not cross for no reason.

"I'm sorry, Alfred. I sounded careless…I didn't mean to."

"You _are_ sometimes careless, Master Wayne." Alfred reminded him, but now it was with the same good-natured tone he most often used when in conversation with his master.

Bruce smiled and gave a sort of half nod, consenting that he was sometimes careless, usually with his own safety.

There was a pause, and Alfred removed the glasses from his nose and began to clear away the medical supplies that now lay strewn over a large part of one of the low tables in the living room area. Bruce watched him, and suddenly and unexpectedly the images of Connie in the hospital bed, fighting for her life, flashed before his inner eye. He tried to shake them off, tell himself that she was going to make a full recovery, but he couldn't quite forget how helpless he had felt in those hours on that rooftop.

"Is everything alright, Master Wayne?"

He looked up and saw Alfred standing in front of him, a concerned look on his face.

He nodded in response.

"Everything is fine, Alfred. I'm just tired."

"No wonder, you were gone for almost a full day…"

There was a pause, and Bruce could sense that there was something else waiting to be said, and sure enough, after a moment Alfred asked;

"If I may be so bold, Sir… What kept you?"

Their eyes met, and it was evident to Bruce that Alfred already had his suspicions about what, or rather who had kept him from returning sooner. Alfred was probably well aware that his intentions showed; he was not the kind of man to be caught off guard wearing thoughts or emotions on his sleeve. Bruce sighed, realizing that Alfred probably wasn't going to give up until he got a straight answer, but never the less he was somewhat reluctant to give him one. He didn't know why, but Alfred had showed a great deal of more interest in his relationship with Connie Tate than he had done in any other woman Bruce had been involved with, and Bruce wasn't quite sure he appreciated this interest. So, in an effort to dissuade Alfred he answered a short;

"I think you already know."

He realized, when Alfred smiled softly and moved to a seat opposite him, that it wouldn't work. Alfred knew him far too well, and they were both aware of it.

Bruce pulled a hand through his hair, and rested his face in his hands for a moment, before he looked up at Alfred again, answering the question with the simple truth this time.

"Connie… I had to make sure she was okay."

"And was she?" Alfred enquired softly.

Again he saw the images of the unconscious woman in the hospital bed, but this time those images were coupled with those of a pair of clear, deep brown eyes meeting his own, and a soft smile meant for him. It was as if a part of him hadn't realized it until then, that Connie Tate would recover from her ordeal without it having caused her any lasting damage, and that final realization made the final iron claw that had gripped his heart all night let go and disappear.

"She was…remarkably so for someone who was taken off life support a few hours earlier."

"A fast healer…" Alfred began thoughtfully, and Bruce added;

"In more ways than one."

Bruce smiled, and the relief he had felt moments earlier now showed on his face. For a while both men were silent, before Alfred finally asked;

"What will you do now, Master Wayne?"

"What do you mean? About Connie?"

Alfred nodded, and Bruce shrugged in response.

"I don't know. Let her recover and get back to her life, I suppose…"

"Just like that?" Oddly, Alfred sounded a bit disappointed, and the tone of his voice made Bruce look up at him sharply.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred paused for a moment and seemed to measure his words, before he said matter-of-factly;

"This woman intrigues you, Master Wayne."

Bruce stared at Alfred, suddenly not quite sure how to respond. If he denied it, it would be a flat out lie, and thus easily picked apart by the man sitting opposite him. If he confirmed it, the impact would be quite different. He would have to face a fact he had tried to avoid for a while, that he had feelings for this woman. He didn't know what kind of feelings or what they would mean if he ever saw her again, but they were there. After a long while, he finally replied;

"Yes. Yes, she does. And that's exactly why I need to leave her alone. I might be…tempted…"

"To do what, if I dare ask?"

"To want to spend time with her…encourage her to get close…things that could become very dangerous if things ever were to become serious between us."

There was a pause, and again Alfred seemed to weigh his words carefully before he spoke.

"Would it be so bad to let a woman get close to you, Master Wayne?"

"Yes! I trust I don't have to remind you what happened to the last one?! I can't let something like that happen again, Alfred. Even if I do enjoy Connie's company more than I do many others… I can't ask her to move amongst dangers she's not aware of."

Alfred sighed, and eyed Bruce with a look that mixed a certain admiration with skepticism. He hesitated for a moment, before he said;

"I do sometimes wonder, Master Wayne, if you are truly aware of what cost you pay for your night life…"

For a brief moment Bruce looked stunned, like he was wondering what on earth had possessed his friend to claim that he was in any way ignorant of the cost that came with his mission. Of course he was aware of what roaming the city after dark as a creature of the night meant.

"How can you say that…? Of course I know!"

Alfred nodded in acknowledgement, before replying;

"Forgive me, Master Wayne. I take that back…You do know the cost, but you are at a loss when it comes to countering the effects."

"Excuse me?!?"

Bruce felt himself becoming somewhat agitated. This was not the direction he had anticipated from the conversation, and it was not a subject he wanted to discuss. What he did to cope with being Batman was nobody's business but his own. The objective part of his mind realized, of course, that even though that might be true, he had never been able to keep Alfred away from any part of his life for long, and that his butler probably both saw and knew more than he was aware of. What made him uneasy about the turn of the conversation was that whatever Alfred thought about what he saw and heard, was very rarely expressed with words, and if Alfred had deemed this the time to voice an opinion it probably meant that he saw something that worried him more than usual.

"Master Wayne…" Alfred began carefully, in a soft tone that he used when trying to transcend the barrier between servant and master.

"My greatest fear is that one day soon you will become so absorbed in the oath you swore on the grave of your parents that you will forget that you too have a life to live…and that you owe it to them to live it fully."

The silence in the room was absolute for a long while, and Bruce caught himself staring blankly out of the massive windows, his gaze drifting over the skyline in the distance. A part of him protested violently against what Alfred has just said, vehemently justifying his crusade against the crime that still threatened to consume the city. But another part…another part desperately wanted things to be different, even if he tried to suppress it. A part of him had fantasized about a quiet life with Rachel, about what it would have been like to not have the responsibility of the oath he had sworn all those years ago on his shoulders. He sometimes wondered what kind of man that Bruce Wayne would have been, and he knew that it was this fantasy, this sense of wonder, that Alfred now played up to. But he also knew that that man, the Bruce Wayne who might have lived peacefully with a wife and possibly also children, would never exist. He couldn't let him, not now when his oath had finally taken shape and form.

"What do you want from me, Alfred?" He asked silently.

"I want to see you live, Sir. Without the mask. We both know that Bruce Wayne the playboy and billionaire is just camouflage…that's not who you are. I know that, and I think Miss Tate suspects it. Now, if you were to confirm those suspicions, I think you might find that her company is something you could continue to enjoy."

Bruce let out a short laugh, and couldn't help but smile.

"Continue to? What makes you think I've enjoyed it before?"

Alfred smiled a crooked smile in return, and said;

"It is quite obvious both from the way to talk about her and the way you act around her, Master Wayne, that Constance Tate is not just one of Bruce Wayne's model beauties."

Bruce gave a sort of conceding shrug, thinking that he should have known better than trying to hide something like this from his very observant butler in the first place.

"So, you're saying I should try to get her to talk to me again, despite the danger that could put her in?"

Alfred nodded.

"That danger is not in any way imminent, Master Wayne. Do as you see fit, but I would urge you to do something…discover if she is as intrigued by you as you are by her. Because I doubt she will dwell on you like some of your other conquests have done…"

Alfred got up, leaving his final words seamlessly in the air, and Bruce to battle the two conflicting thoughts that had now taken up residence in his mind.

A part of him wished that he could forget the conversation and its contents, but he also knew that it was simply wishful thinking. Connie Tate had, without ever intending to, become an unexpected twist in an otherwise well-laid and thought out plan. And what a twist she had proved herself to be.

Even if he had tried to avoid confirming it to Alfred, he admitted to himself that there was something about Connie that fascinated him immensely, something that he could not put his finger on, but which had caused him to seek her out, even when he knew he shouldn't have. He had felt inexplicably drawn to her while they had both been playing Edward Nashton's game, and he did wonder if she had felt something similar towards him. He thought he had sensed a kind of mutual attraction, but he couldn't be sure. Against his better judgment he wanted to find out if his sense of attraction had been real and more importantly; if it was still there. He knew what he had to do to find out, but he also knew that if he were to act on it, he would risk breaking the one promise he had made to himself after the Joker's reign of terror.

That there would never be another like Rachel. Never.

* * *

In Connie Tate's apartment, chaos now ruled. It was largely the result of an eager mind like Connie's dealing with an imposed, almost forced, curfew. Her family had banded together on her while she was still admitted at Wayne Medical, and together insisted that she restrict her activities to only what was absolutely necessary. This meant a lot of time spent inside her apartment.

Connie understood her family's concern, and appreciated it, but she still found some of the quiet days in her apartment fairly frustrating. Her frustration manifested itself in an almost compulsive need to finish wrapping the presents for Christmas, with the result that her apartment was now strewn with paper, ribbons and other decorations everywhere. But, on the bright side, she had finally unpacked the last few cardboard boxes that remained from moving, and all her things were now where she had planned them to be, making her officially moved in.

Her friends had frequently visited her since she was discharged, along with many of her co-workers from Research, usually bringing food and good company, but tonight she was alone. For once she didn't really mind, because she had realized that even if she felt somewhat uncomfortable with the silence at the moment, it was the only way she was going to be able to create some distance between herself and what had happened down in the sub-levels at Wayne Tower, and doing that was the best way to move on.

She was going to have to face Edward Nashton again, and she knew it. The prosecutor's office had already been in contact with her, preparing her that she would be a key element in the case, and she had gotten another call from Alice Travers, the F.B.I agent, that she might also be called to testify if there was a federal case. She wasn't looking forward to any of it, but she was determined to go through with it. Facing him again would be the ultimate test of whether or not she was truly ready to move on.

Connie was just about to find a way to temporarily distract her mind from the thoughts revolving around Edward Nashton when her phone rang. After rummaging through some stray pieces of wrapping paper she managed to find the cordless phone and picked it up.

"Hello."

"Connie? Hi, it's Bruce…or Mr. Wayne, if you still prefer that…"

Connie was surprised to hear his voice. He was the last person she had expected to get a call from, after all she hadn't seen him since their brief encounter on the steps of Wayne Tower, and she honestly thought he had forgotten about her and moved on to some Victoria's Secret model.

"Um…hi. What can I do for you…Bruce?"

Bruce smiled. They were finally on first name terms…at least for the moment. He looked out on the darkened city and the millions of lights that shone from just as many windows, and imagined her behind one of those windows as they spoke, hopefully smiling too.

"Well, I was wondering…are you busy?"

She hesitated, and after a moment she answered;

"No…not really. I'm on sick leave until further notice, on some kind of fancy drugs to keep my organs from shutting down…and my mother has re-instated my curfew…well, not really re-instated, but I can tell she wants to."

She heard him chuckle on the other end, and smiled. The thought that he had a very pleasant laughter struck her out of nowhere, and for a moment she was embarrassed that it had even crossed her mind. It implied that she liked him, and she really wasn't sure if she did yet. He had been nice to her on the occasions where the two of them had met, both socially and at work, but she still wasn't quite ready to discard or discredit everything that was said about him in the press. She wasn't one to believe everything that was said in the gossip columns, but she found caution to be a good thing. She had been burned before, and would rather not have that happen again anytime soon.

"Ouch…that sounds frustrating."

"A little bit," she conceded.

"Listen…I was wondering…"

He hesitated, for a moment wondering if he should go through with what he had planned, or if he should back off. A part of him still told him no, but the opposing part had grown far to curious about what would happen, how he would feel, if he saw Connie Tate again without cape and cowl. It was a split second decision, and a leap of faith that was somewhat uncharacteristic for Bruce Wayne.

"Would you like to come over?"

On the other end of the line Connie was stunned, and waited several moments before asking;

"What?"

There was still time for him to back away, but now that the question had escaped his lips he found he couldn't.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come over."

Still fairly shocked, Connie hesitated. Was this some kind of joke? What reason could he possibly have to ask her over? Well, beside the obvious… But if Bruce Wayne was feeling lonely, surely he would call up one of his model girlfriends? He'd have better luck with them than with her, that was for sure…

"Why on earth would you want me to come over?"

"Well…I was hoping you would just say yes and save me the trouble of ruining the surprise, but I have something for you."

"What?"

He smiled at her curiosity, and despite how many times it had annoyed him in his previous dealings with her, he now found it rather endearing.

"Now, _that_ you will have to come over to find out…But it's nothing sinister, I promise."

Once again a part of her wanted to say 'yes' and give him the benefit of the doubt. She thought back to the evening when they were alone in the Research offices, and that night at the Opera performance, and as far as she could tell he seemed like a stand-up guy. But, another part of her warned, that was what she had thought about David. And David had let her down substantially.

The part of her that wanted to say yes countered with that she couldn't let what had happened between her and David sour her attitude towards men in general. There were decent ones out there. Kevin and Ethan and the others in Research were all good examples, even though she didn't have feelings beyond friendship towards any of them. With Bruce Wayne she wasn't sure what to feel. She felt some kind of chemistry when he was around her, but it didn't quite feel like anything she had felt before, so she wasn't sure what to make of it. And sometimes, just briefly she had though she saw something in his eyes that made it seem like there was more to him than she could see. The thought both scared and intrigued her, because she couldn't tell if whatever it was that she couldn't identify was good or bad.

She took a deep breath, and said;

"Okay…"

"But be gentle with me…I'm just out of the hospital," she added with a laugh.

Again she heard him chuckle, and the answer came without hesitation.

"I'll be careful, I promise."

Connie had no idea what to expect when she stepped into one of the elevators in Gotham's Century Towers. A while back articles about Bruce Wayne's newly acquired penthouse had been everywhere, but the interest had waned and moved to other aspects of the playboy billionaire's life. But it wasn't the apartment that made her nervous, though the grand scale of everything in the Towers contributed to her feeling misplaced, she was nervous about being face to face with Bruce Wayne again. It had been hard enough to find the strength to turn him away once, and she honestly didn't know if she could do it a second time if he went after her again…he was just so damn _charming_ up close. Never mind that the magazines made him out to be a wealthy idiot, up close she had gotten a very different impression, and it was the impression of a man she liked, even if she did not feel quite ready to admit it yet.

When she stepped out of the elevator she looked around bewildered for a moment, until she saw him come towards her, a brilliant, but also welcoming, smile on his face. He was impeccably but casually dressed in a white shirt and dark grey pants, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone, and it made her realize that she was really stepping into his home. Some of the professionalism that had surrounded their previous encounters was no longer there.

"Hi, I'm glad you could come."

She looked briefly down at the floor, suddenly uncertain, before her eyes travelled up to met his, and she said;

"What exactly am I doing here…Bruce?"

Her voice was gentle, but a little bit demanding, and it sounded tired, like she should perhaps have been home asleep instead of standing right in front of him. The part of him that had been against calling her in the first place now berated him for denying her some much needed recovery time. But the other part of him countered that if he didn't say what he had planned to say now, it would never be said.

He hesitated briefly, and then began;

"I wanted to thank you…personally, for what you did."

The look of amusement on her face turned into a frown when she answered;

"I didn't do anything worthy of thanks, believe me. Most of my friends and family think I behaved like a complete idiot."

She smiled apologetically, but he shook his head like he was denying her own claim of stupidity.

"You're not an idiot…believe me." He smiled, and continued;

"And you're the main reason why Wayne Tower is still standing…and why fourteen people didn't end up with their throats slit inside the Gotham Opera. You're deserving of my thanks…more than I think you're aware of."

"Please don't do this…don't talk like I'm some sort of hero."

She looked at him, her eyes almost pleading with him not to say anything more. He looked back in wonder.

"Would that be so bad?"

"Yes! Because I'm not… I'm not even particularly brave. I'm just a stupid girl who got herself in over her head and had no idea how to get out."

He smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile, and said;

"You should have some more faith in yourself. You are a very brave, intelligent, and resourceful woman."

She let out a disbelieving laugh, and said;

"Says who?"

"I do."

There was a long pause where their eyes rested on one another, and Bruce realized that if he let himself, he could easily get lost in Connie's deep brown eyes. The attraction, if that was the right word, seemed to be very much still present. Finally he asked;

"So, would you like a tour?" He spread his arms wide to indicate the large apartment behind him.

Connie shrugged and replied;

"Yeah, sure…I'm here anyway."

He led her down a small set of stairs and into the main living room area, a huge, open space with modern furnishing throughout. It was the same space he had used for his fundraiser for Harvey Dent, just after he had been elected District Attorney, but Connie wouldn't know that. His eyes lingered for a moment on the window that Rachel had fallen out of, with help from the Joker, and in a flash he relived the feeling in that terrified moment between realization and action. But he knew he would be lost if he lingered, so he pushed the feeling aside, not without difficulty, and turned back to a wide-eyed Connie, who was struggling to take in the sheer scale and grandeur of her surroundings.

"_Wow_…this place is huge…"

She hesitated, and then added sheepishly;

"Well, I guess I knew that Bruce Wayne's bachelor pad would be king-sized, but I had no idea…"

Her words faded and she spun around to see if there was something just as interesting behind her.

"How do you find your way around a place like this? Do you have a GPS or something?"

The somewhat childish undertones of the question made him laugh, and as he turned to look at her, he couldn't help but grin.

"No…but if I did it'd probably be easier."

"What do you mean 'easier'…you get lost in your own home?!?" Connie asked, disbelief apparent in every word.

Bruce just shrugged and said evasively;

"On occasion."

"You're kidding me!" Connie exclaimed, the disbelief in her voice even more apparent now, but it was closely bordering on laughter.

Again, he couldn't help but grin as he replied.

"Yeah, sort of. But not completely…I'm not here that much, and sometimes, if I wander around, I get distracted…"

"I don't believe you," she said softly, shaking her head slightly, but smiling at him as she did so.

The tour quickly turned into a walk, and they kept making their way around the large room, sometimes stopping to admire the panoramic 360 degree city view, and the conversation changed to Connie. Without needing much encouragement from him she began telling him about how, for the first few years of her life, she had actually lived not too far from where Wayne Manor was located, in a more suburban part of the Gotham Palisades. Technically he had that information already, for various records and the digging he had done into her background when their paths first crossed, but now he found that it was so much more pleasant to hear it from her own mouth. For the most part she spoke about herself with an easiness and candor that he wasn't accustomed to. Most of the people he met tried to embellish the truth to make themselves look better, sometimes to the extent that the truth became a lie, but with Connie that didn't seem to be a problem. She skipped some areas, most noticeably the period around the time her father died, but that was to be expected. He didn't know her that well, after all.

After their walk they settled in one of the many sofas available and continued to chat. Bruce thought that this was probably the longest meaningful conversation he had had with anyone, save Alfred, for a very long time. The topics varied wildly, and could change in seconds. After a while Connie said;

"On the phone you said you had something for me… what was that all about?"

"Yeah, I'd almost forgotten about that… Hang on a second."

Bruce got up and began walking across the room. Jokingly, she called after him;

"Don't get lost now, or I'll have to come and find you!"

He turned back to her and smiled, before just as jokingly replying;

"Draw me a map."

Connie watched him go with a smile on her face, and kept her eyes on him until he disappeared into another room. Then her gaze sort of floated back to the spectacular city view outside. It was dark now, and the only thing illuminating Gotham was the thousands of lights emanating from just as many windows. She looked around almost in wonder…she still couldn't quite believe she was sitting in Bruce Wayne's penthouse, and actually having a good time with the billionaire himself. Although she wasn't so sure about the 'playboy' part anymore. Okay, so she was probably just one of god-knows how many of his casual female acquaintances, but what the heck...she was enjoying herself. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to offer, and so far he hadn't seemed arrogant or self-absorbed at all, traits she had expected to find in a man in his position. In fact, this felt like the first time she had been relaxed in weeks, and the sensation was so freeing. It was like she was coming back into her own again, to the Connie that had been blissfully unaware of any malicious hackers intruding on her life.

He came back after a few minutes, carrying two small, black boxes. One was roughly the size of a deck of cards, while the other was longer and more rectangular. He settled back into the sofa beside her, now turned so that he sat facing her. He handed her the rectangular box, and as he did their hands touched and both looked up at the other somewhat surprised, like neither of them had expected that to happen. Then they smiled, realizing how stupid that thought was.

"Here…open this one first," he encouraged her softly, and after a brief moment of hesitation she complied, carefully removing the lid.

When she saw the contents she smiled broadly, but there was a look of surprise on her face as well. In the box was a memory card, like the kind used in digital cameras, and, perhaps even stranger, a check.

"What's this?"

Bruce shrugged.

"My way of apologizing for you ending up in the gossip columns. It was never my intention. So, I called my lawyers and had them lean a little on their counterparts at Gotham Cable…and let me tell you, they were more than willing to settle when threatened with sanctions…"

"Sanctions?"

"Limited coverage of various events hosted by the Wayne Foundation."

He smiled what he hoped was a casual smile, and she smiled back.

"Perhaps you're not as stupid as they say after all."

He shrugged again.

"Well…I've gotten used to dealing with the press…"

He said it like it was nothing special, not a trait he wanted her to latch on to and inquire further about.

She smiled gently, and carefully said;

"I really appreciate that you got the pictures back…but I can't accept this."

With two fingers, Connie pulled the check from the box and held it up.

"Don't be silly, of course you can."

She shook her head, and again that gentle smile crept across her face.

"No, I can't. It wouldn't be right…you pay me enough already. Why don't you make it a part of your next donation to the Wayne Foundation instead? I'm sure they could make more use of it than I could…"

"Okay…if you're sure?"

She smiled, and nodded.

"Yeah, I am."

He took the check from her with one hand, and held the other box out to her with the other. Almost as a reflex she reached out to take the box from his hand, but he clamped his fingers around it, making her pull her hand back and squeal. When she realized what she had done, she broke out in a laugh. He watched her, mesmerized, as she rested her elbow on the back of the sofa and cupped her face in one hand. He was lost now, in those kind but still oddly piercing eyes, and that luminous smile she gave away so easily, and he knew that this woman was unlike anyone he'd ever met. She wasn't Rachel, or anyone else for that matter…

"Promise me you'll accept what's in this."

"I can't do that, Bruce." She responded softly, and continued;

"Look, I think you're a great guy, but you're my boss…it wouldn't be right."

"No one is going to think any less of you for taking a Christmas gift from me, Connie. Hell, they don't even have to know… I'm not trying to bribe you or anything, I'm just…"

He hesitated for a moment, but then finished;

"I'm just glad you're okay."

Bruce gently took one of her hands in one of his own, and placed the box in it with his free hand. Her hand felt so soft in his, and he couldn't resist pausing for a moment to savor the feeling. When he let go, he asked softly;

"At least open it?"

It seemed to take her a moment to realize that the box was in her hand now, but when she did her fingers closed around it and she said 'okay' almost in a whisper.

Connie opened the clasp on the black box and gently pushed the lid open. Inside, on a black velvet cushion laid a tear-shaped pendant on a silver necklace. The pendant itself consisted of a turquoise blue stone encased in silver, and it was so beautiful and yet simple that Connie almost gasped.

Receiving jewelry from men wasn't something she was accustomed to. David, her ex, had only given her one piece of jewelry the entire time they had been together – an engagement ring, which she had promptly thrown right back in his lying face when she caught him between the sheets with a co-worker. She had stormed out of his apartment and sworn on everything that was good and decent never to be blind-sided like that ever again. And here was this guy, giving her jewelry just because he was glad she was okay… The part of her brain that had tried to be sensible throughout everything she'd been through lately practically screamed that this had to be some sort of warning sign. But on the other hand…would it be so bad if she just went with it, to see where it led her? It didn't have to be serious, just…casual.

He noticed that she was about to say something, and gently held a finger to her lips to stop her. Their eyes met, and he smiled softly to her.

"Don't say anything. Just let me put it on…?"

After a moment's hesitation she nodded, and he slowly leant in and took the necklace from the box. While he opened the lock, she carefully twisted her hair and lifted it so he could put the chain around her neck without it snagging on her hair. He closed the clasp and adjusted the chain so it was hidden behind her hair.

"It looks good on you."

She smiled, suddenly appearing a bit shy, like she wasn't used to compliments of that sort. Then, after a moment had passed between them, she leant closer until their noses almost touched, before cocking her head slightly to one side and giving him a kiss, straight on the lips.

He was just as taken aback by it now as he had been in the darkened hospital room, but his eyes closed and he leant into it, almost without thinking. It was soft, sudden, unexpected, and passionate on a whole different level than the kisses he was used to receiving from the women who escorted him to various parties and functions.

After a moment that seemed like it had lasted forever, but was somehow still too short, she broke away from him. He stared at her in wonder, and she bit her lip as if she was trying to decide whether or not what she had just done was crossing a line, but then she smiled, suddenly a bit mischievous, and said;

"I don't know if anyone has ever told you this before, Bruce…but you have a very attractive smile."


	16. Author's Note

Hi everyone!

This is just a little note to let you know that I've now begun posting the sequel to Smoke. It's called Cloak and Dagger, and you can find it by going to my profile page.

I hope all of you who liked Smoke will also enjoy the sequel :)


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